


Excalibur Reborne

by archaeologist_d



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Gen, Good Morgana (Merlin), M/M, Merlin & Morgana Friendship (Merlin), Merlin is a Little Shit, Morgana Knows about Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Outer Space, Professors, arthur as PM
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29206602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archaeologist_d/pseuds/archaeologist_d
Summary: Merlin might be teaching Arthurian legend—he’d lived it after all, but when one of his students finds Excalibur, it raises more questions than answers.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 99
Kudos: 160
Collections: Merlin Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

“Professor Emrys, can you wait up a moment?” Tilly called down the hallway, running to catch up with him.

Merlin wasn’t in the mood. It always killed him to talk of Camelot’s Golden Age. The lies, all the smoke and mirrors that others throughout history had piled onto the legends. Death, destruction, the loss of something pure even if it wasn’t. And Arthur, always Arthur.

There hadn’t been a Golden Age and it hurt like hell to keep on encouraging the lies.

But Tilly wasn’t a bad kid, and she had no idea of the pain Merlin kept hidden and so Merlin turned around and waited for her, his face deliberately bland.

“Ah, Miss Wilson, you have a question?”

“I know that they talk of a golden age and King Arthur and all his knights riding off to battle strange magical creatures and rescue maidens and such, but there is no archaeological evidence for it. Even the actual histories of that dark time don’t mention Arthur, and Gildas, well, he mentions Badon but nothing else. So I was just wondering why we are studying something so clearly not true.”

“Perhaps, the real history is hidden in the mists of time. So much has been lost over the ages. Perhaps, someday, Arthur will rise again, and he might even come to my class,” Merlin tried to smile at that, although his heart was aching.

Tilly looked as if she could see right through him. She wasn’t buying any of it, and Merlin had half a mind to just brush her off with mentions of grades and levels and getting on with it. But there was eagerness for truth in her eyes and Merlin was tired of pretending that Arthur wasn’t real.

“We have no solid proof of Arthur existing, so I doubt he’d been attending. Besides, it’s been fifteen hundred years or so. I don’t think he’s coming back, do you?” She said, watching him carefully.

“I wouldn’t be still waiting for him if he wasn’t,” Merlin whispered, half to himself.

Blinking up at him, frowning a little as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard, finally, she said, “What do you think? Was Arthur real or just a made-up sun-god icon used by the mythmakers to turn him into a British hero with a promise of rising again at our greatest need? And what the hell does that even mean?”

“Damned if I know, Miss Wilson. I just teach the course. But it would be nice if there were a nugget of truth in it all.” Merlin leaned down, his voice soft in the hallway, “I wish… I wish he would rise again. So we could hope for that Golden Age at last. And Arthur leading the way with Merlin at his side as he should be.”

“it’s a lovely thought.” Tilly looked at him a moment. “Isn’t your name Merlin, Professor? And Emrys means immortal so logically, it’s you waiting through all those centuries for King Arthur to rise.” She gave him a grin. “But then my middle name is Morgan so that would make King Arthur my half-brother.”

“And Merlin’s mortal enemy, but then it’s only a story after all.” Merlin shrugged, “Lots of people have names from the legends. I’ve met Lancelots and several Guineveres in my time, even a few Arthurs but never the golden king of Camelot. So I think we’re safe for now.” He gazed down at her. “Is that all, Miss Wilson?”

“I… I know it’s stupid, but I think it is true, that there was a King Arthur. That’s why I’m always so mistrustful of the legends and frankly, sir, your class. It’s almost as if the legends taught were meant to hide Arthur’s true history.” Tilly stepped back, biting at her lip. “I know it sounds absurd, but I was hoping for some guidance.”

As gently as he could, Merlin said, “And why do you think it’s true? Have you evidence?”

She looked around, then pulled out a photo of a sword. “I found this last year in a lake near my house. It has runes on it and near as I can translate it, it says ‘take me up’ and on the other side ‘cast me away’. I know it’s ridiculous, but it seems to sing whenever I hold it. It’s hard to put into words. And while it looks new, it’s not. I had a friend of mine who specializes in metallurgy and swords and he said it was old, really old, dark ages old.”

Merlin couldn’t believe his eyes. It was Excalibur, down the etchings on the hilt. A shiver crept down his spine but rather than accuse her of nonsense, he said, “It should be in a museum or at least kept safe.” And why the hell had Freya allowed a university student to take it?

“That’s what Leo said and my brother, Ambrose, too, when he looked at it, but I can’t seem to… let it go. It’s almost as if I had a purpose in finding it. Or maybe it’s all just wistful thinking.” As she stood there, sunlight streaming through the nearby window lit up her eyes, turning them golden a moment before fading back to blue when she shifted back into the shadows.

Not wanting to breathe, Merlin put out a tendril of magic, gentle, tentative, curling around her and getting an answer that astonished. The girl had magic, not nearly strong enough to manifest itself without help but it would explain how she could find Excalibur and make it sing.

Merlin didn’t move, then finally as Tilly frowned up at him, he said, “That’s a fine blade. I would like to see it, if that’s possible. It’s certainly the right time period. I’ve some knowledge of weaponry so I could give you more information if you like. Have you it here or is it at home?”

“It’s at home in Wales, a little town on the English border. I doubt you’ve heard of it, Ealdersham. Not much there but sheep and farms. But I’m going home for the weekend. Umm, if you want, if you came to Wales, I could show it to you then?” She looked a bit sheepish, then said, “Ambrose will be home and my brother, Kay, too, and my parents. It’s funny. My mum’s name is Guinevere so there’s a bit of Arthurian legend in my family. Although I heard from my dad that he put his foot down and refused to name Ambrose Arthur like my mum wanted.”

Shocked, his mind racing and rejecting the nonsense going on in his brain, he said, “So your brother would have been named Arthur? Sounds like the legends live on in your family. Does he have your dark hair?”

She shook her head. “Kay does, black hair and brown eyes, but Ambrose has blue eyes and wheat-blonde hair of which he is quite vain. Brushing it more than I do, the arse. He’s good with athletics, though, and he helped me with my A-levels so he’s a fair brother. As brothers go. When he’s not being an arse. He’s going to uni to be a lawyer. He’ll be at home this weekend, too. He promised dad to help with the sheep shearing.”

His Arthur would have never sheared sheep although he did say once that he would have liked to have been a farmer. Which was ridiculous. Merlin would have ended up doing all the work and Arthur complaining endlessly about it.

Shaking off his melancholy, Merlin said, “Well, I had planned to visit Chepstow anyway so I could stop by on Saturday and take a look at the sword, if that is alright with you and your family?”

Tilly smiled then. “That would be a big help, Professor.” Then looking at her phone, she scrolled through several photos and pulled one up to show Merlin. “Here’s Ambrose and Kay last time I was home.”

A picture of sheep, one dark-haired man standing, and another grinning, kneeling next to the flock. Flaxen hair, a Roman nose, and the bluest eyes. Arthur’s eyes.

Fuck, it was Arthur. It was his king, his friend, his everything.

Tilly was pulling at his arm. “Professor Emrys, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, Merlin said, “Sorry, I was startled a moment. I, too, grew up on a farm and sheep were always part of my chores. Your brothers look like they can wrestle a ram with the best of them.”

“Kay, more than Ambrose. Ams would just as soon stab them with a stick.” Tilly took out a piece of paper and wrote down an address and two phone numbers. “Just give me a call when you are near. That’s my farm’s landline and that’s my phone number. I really appreciate it, Professor Emrys. Hope to see you Saturday.”

Thinking of blue eyes and golden hair and Arthur’s voice pounding inside his head, Merlin said, “I look forward to it, Miss Wilson. And now you should be off. Next class starts in a few minutes.”

Tilly looked horrified. “Oh, bugger, I’m late. Thanks again, Professor.”

Watching her scurry away, not really seeing a uni student but a link to Arthur, Merlin whispered after her, “Please, oh Triple Goddess, let it be Arthur. Please.”


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin was running late. He’d been distracted all week, trying to read the currents of magic but nothing stood out—which only made Merlin both frustrated and depressed. He’d waited so long that any hope of Arthur’s return only made him furious with himself for daring to believe in such foolishness.

Berating his idiot heart in the long hours as he drove into Wales, at times yelling into the air to try and talk himself into turning around and forgetting all about Tilly’s brother, nevertheless, he knew he would go to Tilly’s family farm and find out for himself. How could he not?

After talking to the historian at Chepstow—his original reason for being in Wales, he sat in the parking lot below the castle and tried to breathe. His heart was beating as it hadn’t in centuries and stupidly, he was shaking.

He told himself he was being ridiculous. It was merely a coincidence that Ambrose looked like Arthur. After all, there were plenty of blondes in the UK and Roman noses, too. Merlin had blue eyes. Lots of people did. 

With that, he texted Tilly to get directions and started driving north. He’d face his fears and stop being an idiot and go back to living a life without Arthur. After all, he’d done it for centuries. What was one more day?

* * *

The farm felt achingly familiar. Like Merlin’s home in Ealdor, the house had walls of dark stone, thatched roofs newly done, the green fields above the house dotted with dozens of sheep. There was a garden in front, full of spring colour, one apple tree already white with blossoms, another walled off area beside it with herbs and the beginnings of a vegetable patch. Beside the barn, there were more fruit trees, heavy with the scent of apple and plum warring with the smell of sheep dung. It looked perfect. It would have been something Merlin might have rejoiced in so long ago.

As he pulled in, Tilly came out, waving, and two older people, too, probably her parents. Ambrose was nowhere in sight. Merlin tried not to be disappointed, but it was there, lurking under his breastbone.

Reminding himself that he was there to see the sword, he got out and introduced himself. “I’m Professor Merlin Emrys, Mr and Mrs Wilson. Thank you for allowing me to visit.”

Mrs Wilson smiled. “None of that here. I’m Gwen and this is Tom, Professor.”

“Then you must call me Merlin.” He nodded toward Tilly. “At least outside of the classroom.”

Tilly just rolled her eyes, but Gwen glared at her, then said, “Tilly told us that you were interested in the sword she found. I hope you didn’t have far to travel.”

As she was speaking, she was leading Merlin into the house.

It was cosy inside, a typical farm style with fireplace and somewhat worn sofa dominating the lounge, lots of pieces of pottery, medieval by the looks of it, and some stonework remnants in the glass case near the back. It looked almost like someone had been collecting artifacts over the years and displaying the best of them.

Merlin ignored the question lurking somewhere inside his chest and replied, “I needed to talk with Professor Willowby at Chepstow anyway about some research I’m doing. It wasn’t a bother at all.” He glanced toward the cabinet again, then said, “I do need to go back to London this evening, though.”

“Far enough. A cuppa would do you some good and Tilly can show you the sword and we’ll see what you think,” Gwen said, her body half-turned toward the kitchen.

“And how long have you been teaching, Prof… err Merlin?” Tom asked.

“Going on ten years. I was traveling a bit and I’ve been doing research into medieval legends before that.” When Gwen blinked at that, Merlin said, “I am only be thirty-seven, but the grey hairs are well-earned.” He touched one of the grey patches at his temple. He always thought it gave him more of a professorial appearance and kept some of his students from getting ideas about familiarity. Not that he’d ever act on it. His heart was still Arthur’s and always would be.

Gwen nodded, touching her own hair. “There’s a reason for product, Merlin.”

“Surely not,” Merlin said, trying to be charming. Arthur would have said that he was just being ridiculous, but Gwen snickered at that.

“I hear that there is sheep shearing this weekend. I used to help at my mum’s farm,” Merlin said, following her into the kitchen.

Gwen smiled, then glanced out the back, looking through the window to the barn. As she poured the hot water over the tea leaves, she said, “You are welcome to watch. Ambrose is currently in the barn, but he could show you around after if you like?”

Merlin would very much like. Trying not to sound too eager, he said, “Thank you. That would be great.” Sipping at the tea a moment, forcing himself not to look out the window to see if he could catch a glimpse of Ambrose, he finally put it down and said, “Shall we look at this sword of yours?”

* * *

The back room was a collector’s paradise. The walls were full of weapons, pikes and axes, knives and swords, some of them old enough to be worth a pretty penny. Astonished, Merlin said, “Who is the collector here? Some of these are… unusual.”

Tom spoke up. “For quite a while, I was going to go into blacksmithing. There is a still a need for it in some of the farms around here, but Gwen’s family had this farm, and well, it’s a full-time job. But I still keep my hand in. Kay is the more avid collector of old weapons. Ambrose just likes to use them. He’s in a re-enactor group down near Cardiff when he’s home and he’s a fair hand at sword-fighting. He even won some of the local competitions.” Tom sounded quite pleased by that. “Ambrose treats the old things with the reverence they deserve, but he can bash a sword with the best of them.”

Merlin’s brain was screaming at him not to make assumptions even though his heart was practically leaping out of his chest. Trying to keep from sounding too eager, Merlin said, “I would love to see that. I’ve a fair hand at sword-bashing myself although I haven’t done it in a while.”

“Well, I have practice swords so if you want to give it a go, just say the word.” Tom was smiling, looking quite pleased about the idea.

Pushing the hope back into the depths of his chest, Merlin said, “I think Ambrose might want a say in it.”

“Ambrose uses any excuse to twirl his sword.” Tilly rolled her eyes again, sounding very much the sister.

Gwen looked horrified, “Tilly… err.” Then clearing her throat, she said, “I am sure Merlin is here to see your discovery, not hear about Ambrose’s sword-fighting skills. Perhaps you can get it for him.”

“It’s on the table, mum.” She pointed over to a red wool cloth covering something underneath.

As Merlin turned to it, he realised he’d been feeling the magic of it all along, but he’d been so focused on seeing Ambrose that he’d ignored everything else. As usual.

He didn’t need to see it to know. It was Excalibur, Arthur’s sword come back from the Lake of Avalon. Its magnetic pull was irresistible once Merlin let his magic loose. But not wanting them to see how much he wanted to take the sword and hide it away again—after all, it is only meant for Arthur, Merlin turned and walked over to it, lifting up the cloth.

It lay there, in all its gleaming glory. It seemed to almost glow in the light, and as Merlin took it into his grasp, he could feel it singing as if it were happy to be of use once more.

Tilly said, “Do you hear it? Like a whisper on the wind.”

Shushing her, Tom said, “Don’t be making up stories, Tilly, Professor Emrys is here, and he won’t be listening to your nonsense.”

Feeling protective, knowing how hard it was to feel the wider world and be dismissed for it, Merlin said, “In the legends, often a sword would be thought to sing as it swept through the air in battle. A breeze might set it off. Tilly is quite a bit younger than the rest of us. Her hearing is likely better.” Pulling back a little, he swung the blade, the handle vibrating as he did, and the merest whisper of sound hung in the air.

Merlin looked closer at the sword, pretending to examine it for traces of something that might date it. “It’s a fine blade. By the looks of it, early Middle Ages. It’s in remarkable condition. It should be in a museum and you probably should let the authorities know. Depending on the gold content, it might be considered treasure. But then maybe not. It would be up to them to determine whether you can keep it or not. But then you would know that since you have a collection already.”

“I thought as much,” said Tom. “We’ll talk with the local archaeologist on Monday.”

Tilly looked devastated but she must have known. Nodding, she looked at Merlin wielding it, and she opened her mouth to say something when Ambrose walked into the room.

It was Arthur, no matter what his name now was, and he took Merlin’s breath away. Golden-haired, those bright blue eyes that seemed to pierce Merlin’s soul. He was dressed in jeans and a loose shirt, the sleeves rolled up, mucky boots. Sinews stood out and Arthur’s capable hands and a bit of straw tucked into his messy hair, but it was Arthur’s gaze that held Merlin’s heart.

Merlin almost let the sword drop, then but he was able to collect himself as Ambrose said, “Do I know you? Have we met before?”

Gods above, it was Arthur’s voice, and the inflections he’d use whenever he was confused or trying to puzzle something out. He was staring, too, almost as if he recognised Merlin but wasn’t quite sure.

At that moment, Merlin wanted to drop to his knees and swear fealty, beg forgiveness, babble nonsense as he always did when overcome with joy or grief or a blinding happiness.

Instead, he said, “I’m Merlin Emrys.” Then switching Excalibur to his left hand, he thrust out his right to shake Arthur’s.

But Ambrose wasn’t having it. He must have shoved aside whatever was bothering him because, instead of pulling Merlin into a joyous reunion hug and berating Merlin for taking so long to find him, Ambrose said, “Then I don’t know you.” Turning to his dad, he said, “Kay is finishing up. I came in for a break. It’s been a day.” Nodding toward Merlin, he said, “This Tilly’s professor?”

“Ambrose, we taught you better than this. This is Professor Merlin Emrys, here to look at the sword.” Gwen looked down at his boots. “What have I told you about mucking up my floors?”

Ambrose flushed a little, then mumbling some kind of apology, stomped off back where he’d come from.

All of the air seemed to leave the room. Merlin wanted to run after him, use magic or persuasion or anything really to help Arthur remember who and what he was, but it was clear Ambrose didn’t think much of Merlin.

Putting the sword down, Merlin said, “Is Ambrose upset about me being here?”

Tom shrugged. “He didn’t want anyone to know about the sword. Ever since Tilly brought it home, he’s been quite… protective of it. I’m sure he’s just worried that you would take it back with you.”

Merlin was still staring at the doorway where Ambrose had disappeared. “Understandable. Perhaps I should go talk to him?”

“He’ll be in the barn. That’s where he goes to sulk,” Tilly said, pointing to the back door. “He’ll be with the sheep.”


	3. Chapter 3

Tilly’s other brother, Kay, was busy shearing sheep, but as Merlin came into the barn, he nodded toward the far end, then went back to his work.

Ambrose was at the table there, the sheared wool spread out, and he was removing any bits of dirt or discolourations that might contaminate the fleece. As Merlin neared, Ambrose looked up, then turning away, frowning down at the wool, he rolled it up and tossed it to one side. Pulling another fleece up onto the table, he started going through it as he had with the other one, ignoring Merlin. His whole body spoke of tension and an unwillingness to even look at Merlin, never mind talk to him.

“Ambrose,” Merlin said, “I’m not here to take the sword, you know. Tilly asked me to look at it and I was glad to do so. Nothing more.”

That wasn’t exactly true. It was Arthur’s sword and every fibre of Merlin’s being screamed at him to thrust it into Ambrose’s hands and make him remember just who and what he was. That he hadn’t already remembered was a puzzle, though.

“That’s good to know.” Then gazing at Merlin, studying him as if trying to puzzle him out, Ambrose said, “Seriously, have we met before? You look so familiar. You were a lot younger though.”

“I haven’t always been the ancient wizard of legend.” Merlin grinned at Ambrose, lifting his shoulders and hands a little as if sharing a joke. It must have worked because Ambrose gave a snort, sending him a look of disbelief and a roll of his eyes.

Merlin said, “Once, I was just a kid, barely out of my teens and eager to find my place in the wider world, escaping from the farm and looking for adventure.”

Ambrose stopped what he was doing, turning toward Merlin. He seemed genuinely curious. “And did you find it? Your adventure?”

“More than I dreamt was possible.” Merlin’s heart was threatening to leap out of his chest, watching Ambrose staring at him. If he reached out, he could touch that golden skin, but Merlin was a stranger to Ambrose, and it would only make things more awkward. Instead, Merlin said, “I hear you are studying to be a lawyer.”

Shrugging, Ambrose went back to picking out dirt and burrs from the fleece. “I’d always wanted to travel. I’ve even thought about joining the Army, maybe making my mark in the world, but Mum wouldn’t have it. Since Tilly was already planning on university in London, she’s my twin after all, I thought it would be a good idea for me to study there, too. She’s a bit of a trouble-maker, you know.”

Thinking to talk more with Ambrose and maybe find out if he remembered anything, anything at all, he stepped over and started helping Ambrose with the wool. “She certainly asks a lot of questions but that’s a good thing, especially in medieval studies. So often, the legends and stories get twisted so badly that it’s hard to find out the truth behind them.”

Ambrose looked at him as if he couldn’t believe Merlin was helping him. Then when Merlin just smiled and continued to comb the fleece for dirt, Ambrose said, “And have you found the truth?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s best just to leave things as they are instead of insisting on a truth that would only bring pain.” Merlin shrugged.

He’d learned over the centuries that interference often made things worse if not thought through carefully. Although now, standing next to Ambrose, he wasn’t so sure. But he didn’t know how he was going to just leave Ambrose behind, not if there was the slightest chance that he was really Arthur.

“So the sword. Is it that valuable?” Ambrose said. He stopped working the wool, instead turning to Merlin. “I’ve never seen a sword like it before. Even the museum swords are usually not in the best shape.”

“Yes, it looks like it’s from the early Middle Ages, maybe 5th or 6th century, in as pristine a condition as I’d ever seen. Some might claim it is even Excalibur itself. King Arthur’s sword of old. Right time period, approximately the right location whatever that means. I’d say it’s quite valuable, even without the legends.” Merlin brushed his hand across the wool, then said, “How does it feel to hold it in your hand?”

Sounding almost breathless with wonder, Arthur murmured, “Like it belongs to me. Like it was made for me.” He looked off into the distance, past the end of the barn and out towards the still snow-covered mountains. In his eyes, there was longing there, too, almost as if he were eager to escape the humdrum and find his true purpose. But he shook it off, whatever it was. “It’s ridiculous, of course. It’s just an old sword.” As he started digging into the wool again, he said, “Tilly says it sings but I’ve never heard it.”

“She’s sensitive to the currents,” Merlin murmured, not really paying attention.

“What?” Ambrose looked like he’d heard what Merlin had said but couldn’t believe it. Or wanted to reject the very idea of it.

“Sorry, just thinking out loud.” Merlin didn’t want to push it. But with Tilly’s magic, even with her slight powers, there would have been times when Ambrose and the rest of her family would have seen things that could not be explained. It might have made them angry or worried or dismissive of Tilly’s concerns. It must have been uncomfortable for her growing up and for the rest of them, too, especially with magic being rejected by modern society as absurd or a scam.

But there was little he could do just then so Merlin changed the subject. “I assume you will be returning to London after the weekend? The term isn’t over yet.”

“I was just helping Mum and Dad out with the shearing. Plus Mum likes to have us all here as often as she can get. I think she was quite put out when Tilly and I both decided on London, instead of Cardiff.” Ambrose curled the fleece and put it aside, then picked up another and started working it. “At least Kay is here. It’s his last year at uni and he goes to Cardiff so Mum’s happy with him.”

“London has its charms but there’s nothing like being out in the fresh air, riding through the woods, carefree and unburdened.”

Merlin loved London, he did, but there were times when the longing for Ealdor and his mum’s cooking, awful though it had been, seemed overwhelming.

Ambrose just shook his head. “And what burden do you have that you’d want that? London has theatre and restaurants and life. Out here, we have sheep.” He waved his hand around, to the sheep waiting to be sheared, to the piles of wool both cleaned and still to be processed. At the other end of the barn, one ewe let out a very loud baa as Kay grabbed it and started shaving off the wool. “See, sheep.”

“And peace and a rhythm in the land. There is magic here, thrumming just below the surface. Life is so much more… vibrant here. As if everything is so much more than itself,” Merlin said, remembering, feeling it all again as he looked at Ambrose. 

“In winter, I’d have to disagree with you, but when spring comes, yeah, it’s quite beautiful.” Ambrose nodded, then frowning a little, sounding as if he wanted to ridicule the very idea but wasn’t sure if he should, he said, “Although magic? Really? Isn’t that a bit much or is it because of your name?”

“There is magic if you know where to look.” Merlin glanced at Ambrose then, wishing with all his heart that Ambrose would truly hear him.

But Ambrose just shook his head. “For a university professor, you have some strange ideas.”

“Then you don’t know many professors. In some ways, we are all strange.” Merlin hesitated but thought he needed to push Ambrose and see if he could get past his barriers to magic, at least one last time. “Have you never felt the pull of something more than yourself?”

“Sure, but I put that down to wind,” Ambrose said, waggling his eyebrows a bit, looking as if he wanted to pass it off as ridiculous.

Either he accepted there was magic in the world and refused to let a near-stranger know or he dismissed it out of hand. Either way, Merlin wasn’t going to push it.

“A very level-headed approach. But sometimes, that misses the wider world where things might not always make sense or fit into neat holes. But that is just me talking. Medieval history and legends are often steeped in the mystical and it rubs off,” Merlin said.

Then smiling, trying to look a little embarrassed as if caught at playing word games, Merlin changed the subject. “Your dad tells me that you know your way around a sword. Re-enactors and competitions, he said. Perhaps, when you come back to London, we could have a go. I was pretty good in my day and it would be great to try my hand at it again.”

Ambrose looked him up and down. “Aren’t you… too old for that?”

Merlin wanted to laugh. Ambrose had no idea. Keeping his voice light, Merlin said, “Well, fifteen hundred years isn’t old, is it?” He swept his hand across his chest, then scrubbed his hand across his chin, grinning all the while. “I’ve magicked myself into a more youthful appearance. I’m really just a white-haired doddering old fool, with a long beard down to my waist and complaining incessantly about youngins’ and backaches.”

Glaring, then snickering a little, Ambrose said, “Now you are just mocking me.” When Merlin grinned at him, Ambrose shrugged in defeat. “Okay, I deserve that.”

“We could have a go, now, if you like.” Merlin thought it might be fun. He really hadn’t used his swordy skills in years.

“I don’t think….”

Ambrose sounded hesitant but Merlin looked at him, daring him to back down as he said, “Have you practice swords at least? We could start with those.”

Ambrose stared at him. “Tilly will kill me if I hurt you.”

“Who says I will be the one hurt?” Merlin couldn’t help it. He laughed.

With that, Ambrose took up the challenge. “Okay, you’re on. I’ve a gambeson that might fit you. And practice swords.”

* * *

It only took a few minutes to get ready. The entire family was gathered around, all of them arguing that this wasn’t the way to treat a guest and how badly it could go and should they have A&E on speed-dial.

Tilly looked horrified about it. “This is a very bad idea. If you hurt him, he might throw me out of the program.”

“It was his idea. At least time it, okay?” Ambrose sounded eager.

Tilly scowled at him.

Merlin grinned at her. “Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on him.”

Ambrose was fast and light on his feet. Merlin hadn’t fought with such a fine swordsman in centuries. It was almost as if Arthur was there, mocking Merlin, as Ambrose swept down with the sword, then feigned right as he went left.

But it felt good to go up against Ambrose. It reminded him of other days when Arthur would mock him for being so bad at it and it had only made Merlin more determined to learn as much as he could. In the end, he would never be as good as Arthur was on his bad days and impossible to beat when Arthur was flying high on adrenaline and joy. But even the best of the knights, Arthur included, couldn’t beat Merlin when magic was involved and sometimes, not often, but when he’d had enough of Arthur’s mockery, there would be a convenient rabbit hole or a cow pat and Arthur would go down.

Arthur always had that look after, like he couldn’t believe he’d lost to Merlin, and in the early days, it had been immensely satisfying. But later, Merlin realized that winning by cheating wasn’t winning at all and he stopped.

Surprisingly, that’s when Merlin’s sword skills improved. Funny that. But he used those skills now, thrusting and dancing around Ambrose’s slashes, listening to the clack of the practice swords as they moved and wove around each other.

In the end, it was another rabbit hole, and it was Merlin tumbling down this time. Ambrose hovered over him, unsure of what to do, but Merlin kicked out, throwing Ambrose to the ground, and scrambling up to put his sword at Ambrose’s chest. “Too old?”

“Too good, damn you,” Ambrose said as Merlin pulled him up. “I won’t be so merciful next time.”

There was a spark there when they clasped hands, a jolt of magic that thrummed through Merlin, the currents of power swirling around them both. Merlin’s whole body tingled with it, his heart beating a joyous note, recognition of past and present and future.

Somewhere in the distance, Tilly let out a little grunt, but Merlin wasn’t paying attention.

Instead, he was focused on Ambrose’s hand warm in his, the feel of skin, the pressure of sinew and bone and blood against his own, and always Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. Focused, too, on intense blue eyes boring into his, golden hair lifting in the breeze. His lips, red and full, forming a question, but Merlin didn’t hear it. Everything was in slow motion, and Merlin floating with it.

But in the next instant, the world righted itself as Ambrose let go and stepped back out of reach.

Still, Ambrose looked concerned. “Are you all right? You seemed out of it for a moment.”

There was nothing Merlin could say that wouldn’t sound ridiculous. Ambrose wasn’t wrapping him in a hug or asking about Camelot or anything that Arthur might do in this moment.

Instead, Merlin gave him a brilliant smile. “No, no, quite alright. I haven’t had so much fun in years. Thank you.”

Ambrose looked like he was about to call Merlin out on it, but Gwen came over, her eyes wide, looking both worried and relieved. “That was wonderful. I had no idea that it could be so energetic. Although Ambrose’s competitions were fast-paced but it was more on points than defeat.”

The rest of them crowded around them, laughing, clapping both Merlin and Ambrose on the back, and sounded as excited as if they had just seen a tourney.

“The difference between war and peace,” Merlin said, nodding toward Ambrose. “Ambrose is quite good but he’s not sneaky enough.”

“Hey, I’m sneaky.” Ambrose tried to look affronted, but he grinned through it all. Kay just laughed.

“Never turn your back on your opponent until he’s thoroughly defeated. Otherwise, it could be you that lies dead on the ground,” Merlin said, solemn and sober before breaking into another grin.

Ambrose shook his head, sending Merlin a look of disbelief. “Umm, okay. I’m not aiming to kill, only win.”

“And that is the difference between victory and defeat. But thank you for this.” Merlin clapped him on the back, then stepped away as Gwen gestured toward the house.

Apparently, there were cookies and tea waiting but as the rest of them headed for the lounge and food, Ambrose called after them. “Well, I want a rematch.”

“Any time,” Merlin said. And meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Square filled: Free square G3


	4. Chapter 4

He hadn’t wanted to drive back to London. Hell, he wanted to stay and watch Ambrose talk, stare at that mouth of his widening into a smile or glancing at Merlin with questions in his eyes. But he knew he shouldn’t push it. He’d already had a firm date set for their next bout, one with real swords and not just the practice ones, and that would have to be enough for now. He kept their conversation light, as if they were blokes hanging out who had similar interests but otherwise might be strangers.

Tilly didn’t say much. She kept staring at Merlin as if trying to puzzle him out. Once in a while, Merlin felt the barest hint of magic being sent his way, but it was mostly gentle. He wasn’t even sure if Tilly knew she was doing it.

When he returned to his flat in London, he looked up the Wilson family, birth dates, any information on them and Ambrose. But they seemed a normal family, doing normal things. Yes, there had been a couple of fires at their farm, unexplained but quickly put out, but nothing more. Merlin put that down to Tilly. The easiest magic was often fire magic, the lighting of candles, the igniting of a blaze in the fireplace. Easily explained, too, with kids experimenting with matches as some more adventurous are wont to do.

When Tilly came to see him a couple of days later, he was startled when she slammed the door and looked wildly at him. “Professor? Merlin? I need your help. I don’t know what to do. Oh, God, I don’t know what….” Then she burst into tears.

“Miss Wilson, what?” Merlin didn’t know whether to pat her on the back or just stand there, wringing his hands.

When she didn’t stop, just collapsed onto Merlin’s rickety chair, he finally knelt down next to her. She was shivering a bit. He reached over and put his jacket around her shoulders, trying to warm her up, then took her hand in his. “Tilly, what is it? Has someone hurt you? I’ll confront them if they have or we can take it to the dean or the authorities?”

Her eyes were red with crying, her voice shaking. Shaking her head, she looked both devastated and determined. “No, not them. I can’t… my friends don’t… I don’t know what to do. Ambrose said you talked about it like it was real, but he thought you were just taking the piss, but when I… I don’t know what to think.”

It could be any number of things from bad grades to someone harassing her, but when Merlin reached out with his magic, he could feel it twisting around her, agitated and fragile, like glass threatening to fracture. He needed her to calm down.

Sending a small pulse of soothing energy her way, patting her hand as he did, Merlin said, “Ah, I will do what I can, but let me sit down and then maybe you should begin at the beginning.”

As he got up, moving a pile of notes and books off the only other chair, she gave another sniff and said, “You’ll think I’ve gone mental.”

Settling into the seat, he leaned forward and said, in a soft voice, “Tilly, I know more than you realise. Whatever it is, I won’t judge you or think you’ve gone mental, okay?”

For the longest moment, she just stared at him, then nodded. “Were you just trying to get a rise out of Ambrose about… you know, magic?”

Ah, so it was about magic. It would seem that Merlin’s interference at the farm might have pushed Tilly a bit. She certainly seemed to be aware of something when he was visiting. Perhaps, it was her first step into a wider world.

Whatever it was, Merlin wasn’t going to make the same mistake he did with Morgana. That way only brought about disaster. Merlin let out a long sigh. “I won’t lie to you.” When she waited, blinking out her grief, he said, “Magic isn’t accepted as real by modern society, but it’s as real as you or I.”

That seemed to reassure her, that she wasn’t alone in all of it. Still, she said, “They burn witches or drown them.”

“Ah, reading history can be upsetting. Humankind is remarkably inhumane at times.” Merlin remembered more than a few horrific events, even past Uther’s mad reign. “But that was a long time ago. You’re safe enough here.” Merlin didn’t want to minimize it, though. “But it would be unwise to advertise any such gifts. People tend to react badly about things they don’t understand.”

“You aren’t even freaked out about it.” Tilly frowned a little, looking as if she were processing what Merlin was saying and thinking hard about the implications.

“No, the wider world is wider than you think.” Merlin knew just how wide. So many lives, so much history. It was impossible to process it all so most of the time, Merlin tried not to think too closely about it. Tilly didn’t interrupt, though. She must have seen how emotional Merlin was just then.

Finally, letting his pain go, he said, “I’ve lots of experience with legends and myths and the kernels of truth in them. I’ve lived a long time and seen many things. If you like, I can put you in touch with some who could train you properly. Fire magic is easy enough to conjure up but controlling it is another matter.”

“How did you know?” She seemed surprised that he would know about the fires.

Merlin shrugged. “I looked up what I could about your family. Not because of you, though. I was curious about other… things and the area around your farm, to see what I could find out about the sword, whether your farm had other archaeological finds and whether there was magic associated with it or the area. Well, I read about the fires and put two and two together.”

Of course, he wasn’t going to talk about Ambrose. That was another issue entirely. But as Tilly nodded, he said, “Considering what I know, I don’t think your powers are very strong at present. They might strengthen over time.”

“How do you know that?” Tilly said.

Merlin gave her a little sad smile. Time to come clean, at least about his own magic. “I can sense them. Your magic ripples across the currents, but not enough to change much. As yet.”

Frowning a little, she looked away, staring down at her hands. Merlin didn’t say anything as she fidgeted, pulling at a thread on her sleeve, biting her lip, murmuring under her breath. Finally, she must have come to some kind of realisation because startled, she looked up and gaped at Merlin.

“Fuck, you have it, too,” she not-quite shouted. She seemed horrified and furious and eager for more, all at the same time.

“I’ve been known to dabble.” Merlin shrugged. There was no need for her to know the extent of his powers.

Scowling at him, she said, “That’s a crock of shit. You knew and didn’t say anything to me. I’ve been all alone in thinking that… fuck.”

“And what would you have said if I had? You’d have complained about it to my supervisor or worse, the press. I keep a very low profile. I don’t want to have to change identities again, not now,” he pointed out.

As he spoke, Tilly’s face went from frowning to chagrined to gobsmacked. “You’ve changed identities? What the? Who…?”

“I am now Merlin Emrys, professor, but once I was farmer, dragonlord, manservant, mercenary, actor, doctor, blacksmith, you name it. Like the nursery rhyme, butcher, baker, candlestick maker. Many names, many times. I like what I’m doing right now. I don’t really want to change again. But I will if I have to.”

That left Tilly thoughtful. “Would you have told me if I hadn’t shown up?”

Merlin wasn’t about to lie. Letting out a long sigh, he said, “I don’t know. If your gifts remain slight, probably not because it would be more trouble for both me and you than it would be worth. If they strengthen, then yes, I’d have told you eventually. Before you became too much of a danger to yourself or others.”

Tilly didn’t seem to like his answer, but it was the truth. Still, he felt the need to clarify it a bit. “I learned at a very young age to hide. Even now, it’s hard to unlearn that.”

At least that, she seemed to understand. She nodded as she said, “Yeah, I can believe that. I’ve been hiding a part of myself for a long time. Mum, I think, knows and refuses to face that I might be different. Ambrose mocks the very idea of it and Dad and Kay ignore the whole thing.”

“It’s hard when your family and friends don’t understand. Even harder when you have to lie to them to protect yourself and them,” Merlin said, remembering all those times, all those lies, a thousand, thousand of them, as many as grains of sand on the shore or stars in the sky. Underneath it all, it made him sick to think of it but there was nothing to be done but move on.

Tilly paused a moment, then nodded. “Today, my best friend, Eleanor, found me with… fire in my hand. I tried to cover it up, but she kept pushing so I told her I had magic.” She looked down at her hands, her shoulders curling in a little, as if trying to make herself smaller. “She thought I was having her on at first, then when she realised I was serious, she freaked out and told me to get help. My other friends… well, they’d be less understanding.” She looked up then. “I could feel that I could trust you. Maybe magic calling magic?”

“I’m glad you did,” Merlin said.

Getting up, he began to rummage through some of his more obscure books. Handing her one, a slim volume on magical theory with a few rudimentary spells in them, he said, “I have a number of books that might help you learn focus. I can introduce you to a couple of women, Druids, at the university here—I’d have to discuss it with them first, or I can train you myself. But you might be more comfortable with them. Like it or not, if you show up at my flat, gossips would have a field day, and I’d likely get a visit from the dean.”

Looking aghast, she coughed a little before she said, “No offense, Professor, but you are way too old for me.”

“You have no idea.” Merlin snickered at that, then sobered. “You are my student. The university and I have strict standards about student fraternization and the need for distance. I more than most. I only came to visit your family because of the sword.” That wasn’t really true. If it hadn’t been for Ambrose, Merlin might not have gone at all, but Tilly didn’t need to know that. “However, it would be better to meet up with the Druids and be guided by them. I’ll let you know, and you and they can arrange for a meetup. I can attend as well, if you like, at least initially.”

She seemed pleased at that. Her tears had dried long ago. Leafing through the book, looking intently at some of the drawings, she said, all too casually, “Ambrose talks about you all the time.”

There was a danger that Merlin didn’t want to face just yet. The longing to fly into Ambrose’s arms and find out if he were truly Arthur seemed to grow by the day. It was all Merlin could do to stay away.

Trying to give off an uninterested air, Merlin said, “He’s… a nice bloke. I like him, too. We’re meeting next week for a rematch. He claims he’ll win this time.”

“He’s my twin, you know. We’ll be twenty-one in a few months. He’s the baby of the family, I’m five minutes older although he’d tell you that we are the same age. But he’s a lot younger than you.” Tilly was watching him like a hawk.

“Tilly….” Merlin did not want to have this conversation. It was hard enough to keep from thinking about Ambrose all the time without Tilly raising questions about his intentions.

Then she went there. “Ambrose likes older men. And he’s not your student.”

“For crying out loud… Tilly, I’m old enough to be his father,” Merlin said. That wasn’t quite true but true enough. “I think we should focus on your magic and leave your brother’s love life out of it. We have a common interest in sword-fighting, nothing more.”

“As if he’d listen to me. Ambrose is stubborn as hell. If he sets his mind to something, he’ll see it through no matter what… but,” Tilly stopped, biting at her lip again, before she said, “You didn’t do anything, did you? With magic?”

“Love potions usually don’t work long term. A couple of days at most. And no, I didn’t do anything.” Merlin thought a moment. “You will find that magic always has a cost, either to you or to someone important to you. Magic can be beautiful but in the wrong hands, it can be dangerous, too.” As she stared at him with startled eyes, he said, “You’ll find that as you grow in wisdom and power, you’ll use magic less and think about it more before you do. It’s an awesome gift but always know that with power comes responsibility.”

“So, my brother just thinks you are hot because you are? For an old guy.” Tilly looked confused. “Not that I think you are because, well, you’re old.”

“Thanks, I think.” Merlin said, his eyebrows lifting in mock disbelief.

Tilly grinned at that. “Can I… can I see some of your magic? Fire is easy enough, but not much else so I was wondering….”

“Sure. Stand up.” Merlin pulled her to her feet, setting his jacket aside, then said, “I won’t pull out any magic coins from behind your ear but put out your hand and watch.” Cupping his hands together, breathing into them, he whispered, “ _Buterflége, beflēoge._ ”

As he opened up his palms, two brilliant blue butterflies began to fly around the room. Tilly watched them in awe, reaching out and having them land on her fingers, turning them around so that she could look at the intricate detail and colour of them. As she did, Merlin said, “You’ll have to learn Old English. Most of the spells are in that language but that will be easy enough to explain.”

In the next instant, the butterflies disappeared, the last of the colour staining the air a moment, then it was only the two of them.

Tilly just looked at where she’d seen them last, then finally, blinking up at Merlin, she smiled. “I already started. _Ic i ongann._ ”

“Ah, I began. Excellent.” Merlin grinned back at her.

Looking as if she wanted to give him a hug but wasn’t sure that she should, Tilly said, “Thank you so much, Prof… Merlin. I feel like a new person, so much weight off my shoulders knowing that I wasn’t going crazy.”

Merlin nodded. “You might keep it to yourself for now. I would prefer Ambrose not know that I have magic at present. Perhaps later, when things get sorted….”

“He wouldn’t believe me anyway. Thanks so much. I’ll wait for your call about the training.” With that, she opened the door, clutching the book Merlin had given her to her chest, and waved. “Thanks again.”

“Study hard,” Merlin called after her, then watched as she disappeared around the corner. He hoped he was making the right decision, but it was far too late to change his mind. All he could do was try and make the best of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Square filled: - M4 – magic reveal


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get heated.

* * *

Tilly seemed to blossom after that. Isedera and Brigit took her under their wings, starting to teach her a few spells but infusing them with magical philosophy and a set of rules to help her understand how her choices affects everyone around her. She tended to grumble a bit, but when Merlin explained that going down the dark path leads to madness and death, it hit her hard. Magic was no game, it could be deadly serious.

Merlin didn’t want to push it, though. In time, she’d realise just who he was and that might make things awkward for a while. Better for her to learn about her powers slowly and get her used to how things in the magical domain worked before throwing huge changes in worldview at her.

She did occasionally mention Ambrose, but Merlin would always change the subject. She probably realised what he was doing, but she didn’t push the matter. Considering that she thought he was too old, it was almost amusing that she was playing matchmaker for her brother. Or maybe she was just using Merlin to torment Ambrose, much like Morgana did in the early days with Arthur, using any excuse to make Arthur’s life uncomfortable as sisters sometimes did.

In any case, Merlin deftly stepped aside, not wanting to get embroiled in sibling rivalry, and after a while, she took the hint.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t wrong.

Ambrose wasn’t taking no for an answer. His texts had got more and more flirty as they went on, and Merlin answered them in kind. Tilly was right about one thing. Ambrose was interested in Merlin, old man or not.

Not that Merlin was that old in his current disguise. Certainly not 1500 years old. Thirty-seven wasn’t that much older than Ambrose in the grand scheme of things but to a twenty-year old, it could be a lifetime. But apparently not to Ambrose. 

It didn’t help that Ambrose was sounding more and more like Arthur, too, in the insults, in the way he phrased things. At times, it was difficult for Merlin to separate them in his head. But he thought maybe he should just let it go and see what would happen.

* * *

Merlin met up with Ambrose outside the gymnasium. He was glad that they were having their sword-fighting session at Ambrose’s university. Merlin liked to keep a low profile, not that it would lead to any questions that might prove uncomfortable but hiding had become second nature to Merlin. He didn’t really think about why he preferred it that way. He just did.

Ambrose waved him over, then grinning, he said, “I hope you are up to losing.”

Shaking his head, Merlin just gave Ambrose a look of disbelief. “And what makes you think I’ll lose, you prat?”

“Ohh, starting with the posturing already. I like it. I’ve been hip-deep in reading Shakespeare this week for class so take it as you will. Clotpole.” 

Clotpole. Merlin had taught that word to Will Shakespeare lifetimes ago but still hearing it from Ambrose brought back so many memories. It was both wonderful and terrible. But, of course, Ambrose didn’t know that.

Instead, puffing himself up a bit, Ambrose let out a sonorous, stage-effective sniff, then wiped his hands as if cleaning them off after some horrible task. “I’ll beat thee, but I would infect my hands.”

Relaxing a little, trying to meet Ambrose insult for insult, Merin said, “Wear gloves then, thou sodden-witted fool.”

With that, Ambrose let out a laugh, then clapping Merlin on his back, he nodded toward the door. “Shall we? I’ve arranged for an hour, but I think we’ll be done way before then. I’m currently reigning champion of the school. I’ve outlasted a lot of opponents. I wouldn’t want to overtire you, at least this time.”

Of course, he was champion. Arthur always had to be the best, even if sometimes he pushed himself too far, too fast, too hard. But Ambrose didn’t have Uther’s ruthless ambition pressing at him. Now he could just fight for the sheer joy of it.

Still, Ambrose, just as Arthur had done in the part, was underestimating him. Merlin said, not a little sarcastically, “I think you’ll find I have the stamina, my lord.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that. My lord….” Ambrose looked very pleased with himself, giving Merlin a little nod as if he were king and Merlin a mere peasant.

Merlin reached out and shoved him. “Don’t get used to it, dollop-head.”

Shoving back, Ambrose looked confused a second, almost as if he were remembering something but then he shook it off, leading them into a back room full of equipment.

After checking in with the clerk and filling out paperwork, safety and all, Merlin looked around at the extent of the armoury. There was body armour and gambesons and broadswords, although blunt and with rounded tips. Merlin was glad of that. He’d had enough of real swords covered in blood to last several lifetimes. He didn’t really need a helmet, but Ambrose just glared at him so Merlin put it on anyway.

It made it harder to see, of course, but it had been a while since Merlin fought last, properly fought. Ambrose’s caution made sense.

There were others there, but they seemed to be interested in their own bouts. Ambrose and Merlin took the far circle, Ambrose twirling his sword around as if showing off a little. Merlin just snickered. It was such an Arthur thing to do. Merlin, on the other hand, was all business.

Waiting for the first strike, Merlin stood there, watching Ambrose move. He couldn’t really see his face, the helmets had face shields, too, but the way Ambrose danced on his feet was a joy remembered.

Then it was on.

The first shock of sword against sword seemed to shudder all the way up Merlin’s arm and into his chest. Ambrose was not pulling any punches, not like at the farm. Instead, he was going full bore, his sword striking at Merlin’s weak points or perceived weak points.

But Merlin had experience of many types of combat and he was fast, too, once he got over the blow of Ambrose’s initial attack. He would have liked to watch Ambrose move, but Merlin was too busy giving back as good as he got.

It seemed to go on forever. Merlin’s lungs were about to burst, and his arms were like gelatine, but at long last the timer sounded and both of them were still standing.

Taking off his helmet, Ambrose’s hair was spiky with sweat, his face flushed, too, but he was grinning as if he’d just won the tourney. Merlin bent over, letting the sword fall from his hand, tearing off his helmet, and just trying to breathe.

With a laugh, Ambrose came over and slapped Merlin on the back. “You are stronger than you look.”

Merlin staggered at that, wincing a little, knowing that Ambrose was just being a bloke, but Merlin was beginning to hurt all over. “I think I’ll just wait here until emergency services can cart me away. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move again.”

“Most wouldn’t last half as long as you did,” Ambrose said, nodded, his eyes gleaming with approval. “I didn’t hold back, either, so count it as a win.”

Standing back up, grimacing as some of his muscles were protesting mightily at him, Merlin shrugged. “Told you I’d some experience.”

“Not that I didn’t believe you but not a lot of people know how to hold a sword, never mind wielding one.” Tucking his helmet under his arm, Arthur bent down and picked up Merlin’s sword, transferring them both to one hand, then came over and threw his other arm over Merlin’s shoulder, giving him a tight hug before letting go. “How about we hit the showers, then supper? My rooms are just in the next block over and we can get delivery.”

“I’m not sure….” Merlin wanted to say yes so very much. The thought of going to Ambrose’s room with its bed and Ambrose close was like a siren’s song but he didn’t dare. It had been hard enough being around Arthur, wanting him so much, and Ambrose with less baggage and the same questioning look in his eyes was almost impossible to refuse. 

It didn’t help that it had been far too long since Merlin had had a lover.

“You can tell me more about your adventures with a sword.” When Merlin hesitated again, Ambrose rolled his eyes. “My roommate will be there if you want a chaperone. You are remarkably old-fashioned, you know. I’m not about to take your maidenhood.”

“More’s the pity,” Merlin whispered under his breath.

Ambrose must have heard that. His gaze turned predatory, but he didn’t call Merlin on it. Instead, he said, “Shower, then supper?”

Merlin gave in. It was too much to just bugger off and wank in his lonely room. At least, if he went with Ambrose, he’d have the gorgeous man to stare at, to watch the way his mouth moved and how his hands would grasp the air as he told some ridiculous story of his past. And Merlin could bugger off and wank in his lonely room after.

Walking back toward the showers, handing in the equipment and the swords, Ambrose said, “You’ll have to show me some of your moves next time. That last feign was unexpected. I’ve studied ancient techniques and that one looked like one from the 11th century. And some of your footwork, too, was a mishmash of different times. Where did you learn them?”

“Oh, here and there. Growing up, I had to learn in every way I could, and it didn’t always go smoothly.” Merlin gave him a gormless grin, but Ambrose wasn’t buying it.

“There’s something about you, Merlin. And that fake smile won’t cover it. So come on, where did you learn those moves?” As they walked, Ambrose gave Merlin a nudge and an eyebrow lift that spoke of seeing right through Merlin.

Spreading his hand wide across his chest, Merlin protested, “I’m an open book.”

Ambrose just laughed. “Now that is as ridiculous as anything I’ve ever heard. You are full of secrets and I’m determined to find them out, you know.”

“Good luck with that,” Merlin muttered. He’d been keeping secrets for centuries. One man, no matter how much he looked like Arthur, wasn’t going to fathom him out.

Shaking his head, Ambrose handed Merlin a towel, then nodded towards the showers.

That could be a problem.

Merlin wasn’t all that shy about his form. His body worked as he wanted it to, and he didn’t really think all that much about how he looked. He was wiry, not overly muscled, and he had been told on occasion that he was handsome, but he didn’t often get naked in front of others. It wasn’t worth the questions.

The scars that once littered his body were mostly faded although the knot of tissue where Nimeuh tried to kill him was still there. Sometimes in a hot shower, they were a little more obvious, but most people didn’t care to ask or respected his privacy and the few lovers he’d had were long dead.

Ambrose might ask and Merlin would have to lie again. Or not. Perhaps, turning it into a wild tale might put Ambrose off but then Merlin had to ask himself if that was what he really wanted. Because he really wanted Ambrose or rather Arthur or… he was confused about it all.

Hearing the showers starting, Ambrose’s voice cursing as he dropped the soap, Merlin knew if he didn’t go in there and shower, Ambrose would just raise more questions. Better to get it over with.

But by the gods, Ambrose was beautiful.

Water sluicing down his back, dimples framing the swell of his buttocks, the long lines of tight thighs dusted with hair. Broad shoulders soaped up as Ambrose began cleaning himself, his blonde hair darkened. From a distance, Merlin could see Ambrose’s hand busy with skimming his skin as he tried to reach every inch, then his fingers disappearing in front as Ambrose must have been scrubbing at a chest worthy of worship.

Ambrose turned slightly, looking over his shoulder, calling out, “The showers don’t work if you don’t get under the water, you know. Come on, sooner you do, the sooner we can eat.”

With that, Merlin hurried to the next stall, turning on the water, angling himself away from Ambrose. But he could feel the weight of his stare. 

He couldn’t help it. Merlin could hear the water, hear the way Ambrose was brushing through his hair and skimming his wet skin. The slap of a naked foot on the tile floor and the grumble as Ambrose lost the soap again, it was too much.

Merlin glanced over to see Ambrose in full view, that chest as worthy as Merlin had thought, his nipples reddened with scrubbing, the long line of golden hair down, down to a cock that wasn’t huge but enough to make Merlin’s mouth water with anticipation—not that he would. That way lay madness.

But he couldn’t help staring, then blinked when Ambrose’s fingers moved there, rubbing against his cock, soaping up his bollocks, Merlin growing excited as he watched Ambrose’s cock twitch and then begin to rise.

Merlin looked up, then. Ambrose was watching him, his eyes hungry, his mouth bitten and wet, his tongue just peaking out. Deliberate, predatory, wanting.

Ambrose didn’t say anything, just kept fingering himself, swiping through the soapy water, twisting at his cock, watching Merlin watching him.

It was too much. Merlin wanted to sink to his knees, cover Ambrose with kisses and more, swallow him whole and make him groan out his ecstasy. For a moment, they both stood there, Merlin’s heart fit to burst. He started toward Ambrose.

From the entrance, there were voices, laughing, talking about something or other. Merlin couldn’t tell, didn’t care but he blinked then, pulling himself back from whatever he’d been begging for. There were others coming and Merlin couldn’t do this.

Turning off the water, drying himself off as quickly as he could, shoving himself back into clothes to rush out before he did something spectacularly stupid, he’d almost escaped when Ambrose caught up with him.

Ambrose wasn’t dressed, still had the towel wrapped around his waist. There were water droplets creating little trails of wet down his chest and even now, Merlin wanted to lick him clean. Reaching out, Ambrose pulled Merlin close. “Don’t go. We should….”

“Mr Wilson, this was a mistake on my part. I think we should take some time to review our… whatever this is,” Merlin said. Ambrose shook his head, not letting go, but Merlin just wanted to escape and think and maybe hide for a while, like a century or two. “I’ve got to go. Thank you for the session. Good day to you.”

Then he yanked his arm out of Ambrose’s grip and hurried away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> explicit

* * *

His heart wouldn’t stop racing, even after getting back to his flat. Merlin kept remembering that line of skin, golden in the light, and the way Ambrose’s hands moved. The look that he’d given Merlin, so heated, so determined. The blue eyes, Ambrose’s eyes, Arthur’s eyes, watched him and for a moment, Merlin interposed one with the other. The same smile, the same snarky comments, the intensity with which they both focused their attention on him.

Arthur had watched Merlin, too, in the heady days of Camelot. He had never acted on it, but Merlin remembered the heat and the regret that often followed him. Merlin had been too concerned about destiny and keeping secrets, but he might have acted otherwise if he’d had the chance. One word, one look, and he would have fallen into Arthur’s arms and showed him just how devoted Merlin could be.

Ambrose had no such barriers, it would seem, nothing to keep him from seducing Merlin, to drive Merlin wild with passion and need.

It would be so damnably easy to let go, too.

But it wasn’t fair to Ambrose. Merlin’s heart would always be Arthur’s and even if he thought Ambrose was Arthur reborn, Merlin wasn’t sure he would know how to cope with it. Better to keep a distance and see if Arthur ever reappeared in Ambrose’s eyes. For both their sakes.

That decision was as inevitable as the knock on his door.

Merlin shouldn’t have opened it, shouldn’t have let Ambrose barge his way in.

Ambrose was all fire and ice. “What the fuck was that all about?”

In that moment, Ambrose looked so much like Arthur when he’d been wronged, the anger in his eyes, his determination, the way his mouth flattened as he glared at Merlin for being an idiot that Merlin wanted to weep. Instead, pulling back the last of his courage, Merlin said, “How did you find me?”

Scowling, his voice filled with sarcasm, Ambrose snapped, “I do have some skills, Merlin. Using the internet is one of them.” He stepped further in, slamming the door shut behind him, crowding Merlin. “So what the fuck?”

Shoving down the desire to fall into his arms, instead, Merlin drew back, lifting his chin, glaring at him as best he could. “Ambrose… Mr Wilson, your being here is inappropriate.”

Ambrose must have seen right through him. Glancing down at Merlin’s groin, his gaze lingering as if to prove a point, Ambrose said, “Your eyeing my prick was inappropriate, too, but I wasn’t complaining about it, was I?”

Shit, those eyes staring at him, daring him, was almost too much. Trying to take control of the situation, Merlin said, “I think it would be best if you left.”

“I think it would be best if you let me fuck you and we can argue later about what best means.”

Amborse was sounding more and more sure of himself, almost as if he could see right through Merlin, almost as if he knew that Merlin wanted him, and it would only take a small push to bring Merlin to his knees. Where Merlin very much wanted to be.

His head warring with his heart, Merlin tried again. “Ambrose, I… I don’t love you.”

Shaking his head, raising his eyebrows as though what Merlin said was unexpected, Ambrose thought about it a moment before saying, “I think it’s a little early for that but… is it that you don’t want me?” He looked down at his hands, frowning, then something seemed to settle as he looked back up at Merlin. “Because it sure looked like you do. Or am I misinterpreting this—whatever this is—between us?”

Merlin closed his eyes, pushing down against wanting to tell Ambrose everything and beg for understanding. Instead, he said, “I would be lying if… it doesn’t matter.” When Ambrose smiled, his arms lifting as if to pull Merlin to him and kiss him until he couldn’t think straight, Merlin tried one final time to stop him. “I’m in love with someone else.”

Looking shocked, Ambrose stepped back. “You are? Then why do you look at me as if you want to eat me alive?” Frowning, he said, “Or are you into a group thing or three-way?”

Gripping the back of the lounge sofa, his hands clenched white against the throw there, he stared across the room at the pile of books and the mess of herbs in the window and shook his head. Merlin whispered, “No, just one person. He was my world, and I was wrong to even think that you… he….” Looking up, blinking back sudden tears, he said, “I miss him so very much.”

“How could he ever let you go?” Ambrose was angry. Merlin could see it in the flash of his eyes and the way he was frowning.

Merlin stared off into the distance, feeling every moment of those last days, the grief ever-present. “It wasn’t like that. I tried so hard to keep him safe and he… died.”

In the next instant, enveloped in arms that felt so right, Merlin’s face tucked into Ambrose’s neck, Ambrose said, “Oh, shit, Merlin, I’m so sorry. When did this happen?”

It seemed like yesterday, the pain, the desperation, the futility of it all. Merlin whispered into Ambrose’s skin, “A lifetime ago. So long. I’ve been alone so long and you are… you were….” Merlin pulled back, away from Ambrose, then wiped away the tears that had sprung up, traitor’s tears. He hadn’t wanted to be this vulnerable in front of Ambrose. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually this maudlin.”

“If you were mine, I’d want you happy.” Fierce and certain, muttered in a rush, then more slowly as if trying not to spook Merlin, he said, “How long has it been since you’ve been with someone? Anyone, even for a night?”

Merlin shrugged. “Years. I find having sex with someone I don’t care about isn’t worth pursuing. I always feel empty after.”

“Merlin, I can’t promise forever. And I know you think you are too old for me—which is bollocks by the way, but I think we could be good together. Really good.” Ambrose reached out again, gripping Merlin’s arm as if afraid he’d disappear in the next instant. “Give me tonight. If tomorrow, you feel the same, send me on my way and we’ll call it done and done. What have you got to lose?”

The heat of his grip on Merlin’s arm was a brand burning into his skin, reminded him of closeness and love and potential. Still, he said, “Hearts are fragile things.”

“Yours isn’t the only heart here,” Ambrose reminded him, then pulled him closer, slung an arm over Merlin’s shoulder so he could feel the warmth there, smell his skin, feel the brush of golden hair against his cheek.

Trying not to beg, his voice broken, Merlin said, “I don’t have any condoms.”

Still holding onto Merlin, with his other hand, Ambrose reached into his pocket and pulled out a long line of condoms. Grinning, wiggling the packet in Merlin’s face. “I do.”

“I think a whole pack of them might be pushing it a bit.” Ambrose was being too ridiculous. 

“Well, we could certainly try. Think of it as a challenge.” Ambrose’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with want, as he shook the packet again.

Ambrose hadn’t bought the smaller pack, either. Twelve in there. Did the man think Merlin was capable of using that many? “You’ll kill me.”

“I can try.” And with that, Ambrose pulled him toward the bedroom.

Merlin went willingly.

* * *

Ambrose was inventive and energetic and very, very enthusiastic.

Merlin remembered those days, the need to chase pleasure, wanting closeness and warmth and love in someone’s arms. At twenty, he’d already killed more times than he cared to remember and his need to keep Arthur safe overpowered everything else. The constant danger, the lying, the exhaustion filled his days _and_ his nights, and there was no time for anything else, certainly no time for a lover or a quick encounter at the local brothel.

Besides, by then, he’d already fallen in love with the pillock.

Destiny could be a bitch at times, and he found out just how much in the years since.

Ambrose, on the other hand, had no idea of the horrors Merlin had gone through. In a way, it was a relief. No past, no future, just the now, just enjoying the pull and push of skin against skin.

Luckily, Merlin still had lube around. He’d meant to get more for the dildo he used sometime but rather than having Ambrose find it in his drawer, Merlin hurried over, pulling it out and setting it onto the bedside table.

Grinning, Ambrose let the packet of condoms pile next to the lube, then turned around and kissed Merlin.

It shouldn’t have taken Merlin by surprise, but for a second he just stood there, like some kind of statue while Ambrose cupped his hands around Merlin’s face, holding him still. Ambrose was warm, licking at Merlin’s mouth, biting his lip just a little, then soothing it with his tongue, and it felt sweet and hot at the same time, a mixture of desire and pain that should have been worrying but instead just seemed to mix into a heady beat of pleasure.

When Merlin kissed back, relaxing into it, he could feel Ambrose’s smile against him. Ambrose kept one hand curled around Merlin’s cheek and ear, his fingers splayed down to nudge at the soft skin at his throat. But with his other hand, Ambrose reached down, pulling Merlin’s shirt up, snaked his fingers to play with skin. Searching, following the line of muscle up to Merlin’s nipple, then rolling the tip of it, squeezing, scraping with a nail across the sensitive skin.

Merlin started to firm up at that, the spark of pleasure sizzling down his abdomen and pooling at his groin. When he pressed in, he could feel Ambrose already hard.

With a little grunt, Ambrose let go, stepping back, then a wicked smile on his face, he pulled off his t-shirt, discarding his boots, then unzipped his jeans and let them fall, too. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

He was golden, hair at his groin darker but still beautiful, his cock proud against his abdomen. He was fit, too, a trim waist, a tight arse that Merlin wanted to mark, nipples peaking in the cool of the room, and above it all, Ambrose’s smile hungry. His eyes were dark, watching Merlin’s reaction.

He must have seen something in Merlin’s gaze. Satisfied, as Merlin stared at him, he reached out and began to undress Merlin.

His heart beating as a mad thing in his chest, as Ambrose removed first a shirt, then Merlin’s trousers and y-front, his hands smoothing across Merlin’s skin as he did. His fingers caught at the scars, especially the one left by Nimueh and for a second, his thumb lingered there following the rough edges. Then Ambrose leaned down, mouthing at Merlin’s chest, his fingers busy with Merlin’s over-sensitive nipples before moving to Merlin’s groin, cupping his prick in that hot hand of his and using his thumb to skim across the cockhead. Merlin tried not to moan at the sudden spike of desire.

Ambrose must have known how Merlin was feeling. Merlin’s flesh was pebbled, his cock hard and leaking, and he couldn’t catch his breath. Swallowing hard, Merlin whispered, “Ambrose….”

But Ambrose just hushed him, pressing his fingers against Merlin’s mouth before following it with another searing kiss. He was pushing Merlin backwards, too, then shoved him down onto the bed. Ambrose was a heavy weight on him, keeping him captive.

It felt right, to be captured by him, to be held down, not that Merlin would ever want to escape, but Ambrose’s weight on him was its own joy.

When Ambrose started to pull back, Merlin reached out and held him in place, hands on that tight backside, his fingers following the dimples at his back, past bone and muscles into the dark warmth between his buttocks. Ambrose grunted at that. “Find something you like?”

Pushing his cock up a little, enjoying the heat and pressure, Merlin whispered, “I might have, but maybe later. You have the upper hand right now. I hope you’ll use it.” Then he reached over and spilled lube into Ambrose’s hand.

Lifting off a little, Ambrose kissed Merlin again, all tongue and battle, then began to move down, licking at skin, breathing over his scars, sucking on Merlin’s nipple, rolling it with his tongue into a taut peak, all the while circling his finger into Merlin’s arse hole and pushing in.

Giving a little groan, Merlin pressed down, aching for him to get on with it, to force Ambrose’s finger deeper inside. Wordless, Merlin grabbed onto Ambrose’s wrist, then shoving his hand harder against Merlin’s crack, hoping that Ambrose would understand.

Ambrose was a wonder. Before Merlin could say anything, Ambrose was opening Merlin up with fingers and movement, lube, and warmth. His mouth, too, was busy, as he swallowed Merlin’s cock, then pulled back up, swirling his tongue around the tip and playing with it.

The pleasure was building, hard and brilliant, and Ambrose seemed to know just what Merlin wanted, fingers busy inside, pressing on the nub that would send sheets of pleasure straight into Merlin’s groin.

But Ambrose pulled back, playing a little, biting first at Merlin’s chest, then swallowing down his cock or licking the cockhead, and back to Merlin’s neck or mouth. Not quite random but enough to put Merlin on edge, a kind of pleasure-pain that was brilliant, that was building and building.

Trying to breathe and not come too soon, for a moment, Merlin watched Ambrose leaning back, tearing at the condom. Merlin helped roll it down, Ambrose’s mouth wet as he watched him, then more lube.

Ambrose gestured for Merlin to turn over, but Merlin just shook his head, lifting his legs apart, inviting Ambrose in.

With a grin, Ambrose surged up, thrusting his tongue into Merlin’s mouth, just as he pushed into Merlin’s arse. Huge and welcome, too gentle, too slow, Merlin reached down and pulled at Ambrose’s arse, even as Merlin lifted up and wrapped his legs around Ambrose and shoved him closer.

Grunting, Ambrose seemed to realise just what Merlin wanted.

Not gently, Ambrose shoved his cock into Merlin. Too much, not enough, Merlin felt like he was splitting in two, but at last, he was feeling something, love or desire or a kind of madness. Crying out, he begged Ambrose to push in harder, sharper, digging into his very heart if he could.

Ambrose bent Merlin even more, reaching that perfect spot again and again. His hand was busy, too, curling around Merlin’s cock, the pressure just this side of painful. The pleasure was growing, burrowing into his skin, making his chest hurt with the joy of it, an explosion of white heat and ecstasy so intense that he thought he might die of it.

It seemed to go on for a lifetime, pouring out of him, not shrieking with it but breathless and intense.

When he finally came down from it, the come hot on his chest, Ambrose was tying off his condom, discarding it in the basket beside the bed. Then grinning, looking thoroughly satisfied with himself as if he were the cat who’d got the crème, scraping his thumb through Merlin’s come, Ambrose shoved it into Merlin’s mouth, then kissed Merlin, sharing the taste.

It was bitter and warm, and underneath it all, Ambrose’s taste was there, too, a wild mixture of shared pleasure.

“You okay?” Ambrose asked. “Because if you are, I’m up for another go in a little while. And this time, you can fuck me or I could ride you.” He leaned down, his breath warm against Merlin’s ear. “You like it rough, don’t you?”

When Merlin nodded, Ambrose smiled. “I can do rough. So much so that you will have trouble walking tomorrow. Would you like that?”

Merlin nodded again. He had lost so much over the years that sometimes he couldn’t even tell if he were alive. But he felt it now, the ache deep inside, the soreness, the lube coating his thighs, the bites on his skin, the bruises that would be there tomorrow. He wanted it all.

And Ambrose was there to give it to him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> explicit

* * *

One problem with Ambrose remaining overnight was Merlin’s magic, specifically his old man glamour. It took energy to keep it up and usually Merlin would let it go when he got home, feeling lighter for all the aches and pains that melted away when his youthful face stared back at him in the mirror.

This time, he waited until Ambrose was asleep before releasing the spell. He hoped he’d wake before him, too, or there might be a heated discussion of magic and explaining just who and what he was. Or lying to his face, although Merlin would prefer not to do that. It was already hard enough with Ambrose looking at him with that sweet softness and his satisfied smile.

Not that he’d give Ambrose up, now. Ambrose, Arthur, the mixture was still a confusing mess in his head, but it felt right. It felt like destiny.

Padding back from the loo in the morning, his older face already back on, Merlin sat down on the bed and watched as Ambrose stretched out, his eyes still sleepy.

When Ambrose saw him there, he smiled, then tugged Merlin back down for a quick kiss, morning breath be damned. At least Merlin’s mouth still tasted of mint.

Humming in enjoyment, not letting go of Merlin’s wrist as they lay there, Ambrose said, “You know you look years younger when you’re unconscious.”

Shit, Merlin started to panic. Just what he feared. Trying to misdirect, thinking that he could just pass it off as something normal, Merlin looked at Ambrose as though he’d been at the cider. “I’ll remember that in future. I’m sure my classes will be thrilled if I fall asleep while teaching.”

Ambrose rolled his eyes, snickering a little as he did, then stared more closely at Merlin. “Seriously, you looked my age.”

Shrugging, Merlin said, “Trick of the light. Although if I were your age, I’d have more stamina.” Then he waggled his eyebrows a bit, trying to look like some kind of ridiculous villain in an old-timey movie.

“You have stamina enough, _old man_.” Ambrose yanked at Merlin, rolling him over, then gave him a deep, probing kiss, one with tongue and energy and a promise of more. His hands were busy, too, curling around Merlin’s cock, his fingers probing into Merlin’s hole, feeling the slide of lube still lingering there.

Merlin would definitely have to take a shower later.

“I see that you are still oiled up,” Ambrose pushed three fingers in, probing for that perfect nub that had Merlin seeing stars the night before. Whispering in Merlin’s ear, Ambrose breathed, “And well-used. I’m up for another go if you think you can handle me, Mer _lin_.” 

That sent a shudder through Merlin. That voice, that way of saying his name, the hint of daring him to do something that Merlin might find ridiculous, was all too much.

Reaching over, ripping the condom’s package with his teeth, he began to slide it down Ambrose’s now hard length, and coated it with the last of the lube. His fingers still in Merlin but sliding free, Ambrose was staring at him, looking wild, looking intrigued, looking a little like it might take a while to finish, but Merlin just smiled. A test, then, of stamina.

Merlin climbed over Ambrose, Merlin’s legs on either side of Ambrose’s hips, and grabbing onto that sheathed cock, Merlin sank down onto it. Enjoying the fullness, smiling at Ambrose’s surprised look, a startled stoat as Arthur would have said, then Merlin began to ride him, pulling out all the stops, driving Ambrose wild with desire.

It took longer this time, the pleasure burning straight through to Merlin’s brain, but in a way, it was Ambrose staring at him that was the bliss driving him on. The look of wonder, the way his face contorted as he finally fell into ecstasy, his so blue eyes closing as if to ride out the pleasure and die of it.

In the end, they were both a mess, Merlin’s come all over them both, and the discarded condom somehow missing the basket.

Merlin knew he’d be sore as hell and likely walking funny for a while, but it had been fucking worth it.

* * *

After showers and dressing—because even Ambrose wasn’t up for another round, Merlin made him breakfast, eggs, bacon, toast, tea. Breakfast of champions or rather breakfast of blissed-out sex fiends.

Sitting down, wincing a little as he did, Merlin gestured toward the food.

Ambrose seemed to relish the way Merlin was moving, as if Ambrose had conquered the world, but he just grinned and said, all casual, “When I was a kid, I dreamt of you.”

“What?” Merlin almost choked on his toast. Ambrose thumped Merlin’s back a couple of times and finally Merlin was able to swallow. “What?”

Ambrose watched him, obviously enjoying Merlin’s bewilderment. “Not you, you, but I had an imaginary friend. Merlin the sometimes wise, sometimes a clumsy idiot. We lived in a castle. He’d do all these tricks, branches falling on bad guys, creating butterflies, lightning, juggling. He looked a bit like you, but younger, about my age now. Black hair, blue eyes, large ears—I love your ears even though you try and hide them under your hair—I wish you wouldn’t. Wiry like you but with such a grin.”

Merlin deliberately grinned a little at Ambrose’s prodding, feeling more like a traitor than anything.

He was too numb to do anything else. He wasn’t sure if he should be terrified that Arthur or Ambrose would reject him or incandescently happy that Arthur might finally be here.

Nodding, Ambrose grinned, too, pointing to Merlin’s mouth. “Yes, like that.” Then as Merlin sat there, unblinking, staring at him, Ambrose said, “He’d insult me, too, very inventive ones, but as a kid, I didn’t understand what he was talking about.”

Burning hot and cold, his mind wild with speculation, it sounded like memories. It sounded like Arthur trying to come through. It sounded like Ambrose was more Arthur than Merlin could have dreamed.

His mind racing, knowing that he had to think about all the ramifications, still he needed to know why Ambrose wasn’t calling himself Arthur or pushing for some kind of recognition of the Once and Future King returned.

Carefully, thoughtfully, Merlin said, “Sounds like you were quite a handful as a kid. Do you still have them? The dreams?”

Frowning a little, looking down into his teacup as if thinking about it, Ambrose said, “Sort of. I mostly outgrew it, but sometimes I still wake up calling his name or shouting out a slew of insults, you know brains of a donkey or complaining about his lazy insolent ways or telling him to come back. It’s probably a holdover from my imaginative childhood.” Ambrose shrugged, then drank the last of his tea.

Merlin didn’t know what to say. It took all of his strength not to kneel at Ambrose’s feet and pledge his undying fealty to his king. Or beg for forgiveness for not saving him so long ago.

When Merlin continued to sit there, silent—because what could he say that wasn’t going to raise a shitstorm of accusations and denials and confusion, Ambrose gave a little laugh. “Tilly, on the other hand, used to torment me endlessly about it. She’d call me King Arthur when Mum and Dad weren’t around. Did you know Mum wanted to name me Arthur, but Dad had a fit? Ambrose was his father’s name and well, parents, you know.”

Hunith loved him fiercely but was paranoid—rightly so—about his magic and that really scarred him. Even now, he couldn’t seem to shake off the soul-deep need to hide. Centuries past and still afraid. And Balinor had been a day’s happy dream that turned into a nightmare of blood and death in the end.

Nodding, Merlin said, “Parents are weird sometimes.”

“And sisters are the worst. At least Kay just let me be.” His mouth twisting in a wry half-grimace, Ambrose gave a little sigh. “Anyway, for a while, I would lord over her and call her witch because well… her middle name is Morgana and she used to pretend to have magic. Fire magic and sometimes she’d tell me things that would come true. Which was weird. But finally, Dad put his foot down and she stopped.”

“Yes, she told me about your name and hers. I don’t have a middle name. Merlin was bad enough. Can you imagine all the insults I got as a kid? Show us some tricks, _Merlin_. What happened to your magic, _Merlin_? Kids can be cruel sometimes, too.” 

Making up stories about his childhood made him feel a fraud but what was he supposed to say, that he’d floated on air when he was a toddler, that he’d pulled over Old Man Simmon’s tree with magic when he was ten and his mum had a fit? Better to just pass it off as normal.

“Tilly seems like a really nice person, though” Merlin said.

But Ambrose didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong. Instead, he shrugged. “She’s okay. For a sister.” Ambrose fiddled with his teacup, then seemed to come to some kind of decision. Looking a little sheepish, his cheeks pink with embarrassment, he said, “When I first saw you, for a second, I thought you’d come for me. My long-lost friend. It’s stupid, I know.”

Shit, shit, shit. Ambrose seemed reticent to tell Merlin about such things, as if it were a stupid kid thing and not worth bothering about. Merlin, on the other hand, was almost certain that Ambrose was repressing memories. After all, being teased as a child or teen-ager would have been painful, especially if the dreams had been important to him as it surely must have been. Or was there some other reason why Ambrose was treating it like it were nothing?

Reaching over, Merlin put his hand on Ambrose’s arm and said, “It’s not stupid. It’s destiny.”

Ambrose shrugged him off. Picking up the dirty dishes and putting them in the sink, running the water over them, then stacking them in the dishwasher for later, he looked like he was trying to keep busy, that he didn’t want to answer Merlin. Finally, he said, “I don’t believe in destiny. We make our own fate. That my imaginary friend looked like you is just a coincidence.” He sounded almost as if he was sorry he’d even mentioned it.

“Of course.” Merlin couldn’t keep the sound of disbelief out of his voice.

Arthur gave him a look that spoke of idiots and their opinions. “Okay, don’t you go all mystical on me, too. Tilly’s been bad enough these last few days. Talking about magic and training and such. I think she’s hanging out with some dodgy Druid nutters.” He threw up his hands at that, then drew a little circle in the air, a clear sign that he thought they had all lost the plot, were totally barmy.

“Ambrose, I don’t think you should call them dodgy or nutters,” Merlin pointed out. They certainly weren’t nutters. After all, some of them were quite adept at magic and spells. Tilly was learning from the best of them. But perhaps he should let Ambrose think that they were a bit daft, for their protection and Tilly’s, at least until Merlin could figure out what to do.

Ambrose gave up at that. “Okay, Tilly would probably have my head anyway.” Then, finishing up with the dishes, wiping his hands on his jeans, he tilted his head to one side, staring at Merlin as if thinking very lascivious thoughts and trying to figure out how to get Merlin to go along with him. Grinning, he said, “How about one more go-around before class?”

Merlin had to laugh. The man was insatiable. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“Ah, but what a way to go.” Slinking over to Merlin, putting his very warm hands on Merlin’s hips, swaying a little as he leaned in close, he murmured, “Come, my hugger-mugger, my cockered turnip-head. Fie, I would have thee worship my cock a thousand-fold over and write sonnets upon thy lips with mine own pleasure’s release.”

Fuck, the man could talk a saint into sinning. But Merlin doubted he could get it up even if he wanted to. He wasn’t exhausted but his prick was. Pushing Ambrose back, shaking his head, Merlin said, “You have Shakespeare this morning, don’t you?”

“Yes, is it obvious?” Ambrose said, grinning. He looked thoroughly pleased with himself.

“He was a marvel with language. You, on the other hand, were always pawning off your speeches to your loyal manservant, you prat.” Merlin remembered those days, writing perfect speeches, only to have Arthur protest that it wasn’t quite what he wanted and then using exactly what Merlin had written anyway, the wanker. 

“What? I have no idea what that even means.” Ambrose looked confused a moment, then said, his gaze flicking down to Merlin’s groin and then back up to his face. “Can I see you tonight? We still have condoms left to use.”

“I’m free after six.” Merlin just hoped he could get it up by six. Ambrose could wear down Eros himself.

Grinning, looking as if he’d just won the prize of a lifetime, Ambrose said, “So it’s more than just one night? I want it to be.”

Merlin leaned in, whispering into Ambrose’s ear. “Bring more lube.”


	8. Chapter 8

Ambrose and Merlin had been going at it like rabbits for days. Endless energy, trying to find out how many ways he could make Merlin beg, dominating Merlin in a way that was both amusing and heart-breaking, Ambrose was taking on more and more of Arthur’s mannerisms and expectations. As if Merlin’s attentions were a given, as if Ambrose were owed a bone-deep loyalty that was unspoken as much as it was just there. Like gravity.

Merlin made little mistakes, though. Once he’d called Ambrose ‘Arthur’ in the depths of passion and it took laughter and sheepish apologies before Ambrose let him finish. He made sure not to do it again.

He wasn’t sure, though, if his mind was failing after all the centuries he had lived or if deep down, he wanted Ambrose to see him for who he really was. More and more, at night, his glamour seemed to slip without Merlin realising it. A few times, Ambrose looked at him, frowning a bit in puzzlement, then shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. A trick of the light, although that excuse was growing more and more far-fetched.

But Ambrose didn’t believe in magic. He complained about Tilly being obsessed with it, and on a few occasions, Ambrose told Merlin about arguments he’d had with her. Merlin ached to tell Ambrose, but when he even hinted that she might be right about magic, that there might be more than a ludicrous fascination involved, Ambrose stomped off.

Merlin didn’t want to push it. After all, he’d come to accept that when it came to Arthur, Merlin was a coward. He’d done unspeakable things to keep Arthur safe and he’d lost him anyway. To lose him again, even if it was because of an argument or an obvious use of magic, was just unacceptable.

It had been bad enough over the centuries. Merlin had gone into deep depressions, had gone mad at times. The old man of the woods, hiding in a crystal cave or staring at the tower across the Lake of Avalon wanting so desperately to die that he’d woken one day covered in snow and hadn’t remembered the last time he’d moved. He had come to terms with it after a few hundred years, but seeing Ambrose just brought back so many bad memories of that terrible time that he wasn’t willing to risk it.

If he lost Ambrose, he might seek out Excalibur and end it. The sword was capable of killing anything after all, including those of magic and Merlin was desperate enough that the finality of it might be welcome.

For he was certain that Ambrose was Arthur reborn. The memories, the mannerisms, the way he looked at Merlin, it all pointed to Arthur’s return. For whatever reason, Ambrose didn’t know or refused to accept his destiny as the Once and Future King.

And Merlin was a coward.

* * *

“You’re Merlin,” Tilly said, sounding thoroughly put out as she slammed shut the door to his office.

Merlin knew what she meant. She’d been with the Druids, studying the mysteries of magic and sometimes they couldn’t keep secrets no matter how much Merlin explained things to them. It was as inevitable as the sea hitting the shore that she would figure it out.

He would have liked a bit more time, though.

Merlin just gave her a polite smile, then looked at her as if she’d lost her mind and she expected him to find it. In a mild, starting-to-be-slightly-annoyed voice, Merlin said, “And good day to you, Miss Wilson. I see you know my name. It is on the plaque outside my door, after all.”

“Don’t give me that innocent shit, _Professor_.” She stalked closer, her eyes narrowed. “You’re Merlin. The famous one. Myrddin Ambrosius. Myrddin Wyllt, Myrddin the Wild, Emrys the Immortal, Merzhin, Merlinus Caledonensis…..”

“Yes, yes, don’t wear it out,” Merlin said, shaking his head. He’d heard all those names and more that hadn’t been incorporated into the history books. Girl’s petticoat, bumpkin, weakling, daffodil, idiot. Monster.

Tilly kept talking, ignoring Merlin’s growing discomfort. “Merlin of King Arthur fame. What the fuck?”

“Fuck had nothing to do with it, Miss Wilson. Although technically, my mother would disagree with me on that score,” Merlin said, trying to divert her attention before things got too uncomfortable.

Eyes wide, then narrowing, she just looked at him like he had two heads. As she started to pace around Merlin’s rather small office, she kept staring at him. “I can’t believe you’d talk about your mum while… fuck that. I always thought you were a myth. Just a bunch of stories all mashed together spun into some kind of magical wunderkind. And Arthur a sort of a sun-god legend that had no real basis in fact.” Stopping right in front of him, she waggled one finger at his face, looking thoroughly annoyed. “You taught it that way, you fraud.”

When he merely shrugged, she started pacing again, waving her hands around as if trying to keep from exploding. “Shit, does that mean Arthur was real? Knights of the Round Table and Lancelot and the whole Guinevere drama? And… wait, does Ambrose know who you are?”

Standing in front of him, hands on hips, she didn’t look at all happy.

“I haven’t said that Merlin of King Arthur fame is real, have I?” Trying to prevaricate, trying not to discuss just how much he didn’t want to bring Ambrose into the conversation because there was a whole universe of feelings there, he said, “And Ambrose certainly knows me as Professor Emrys which I am.”

Her mouth dropped. Looking as thunderous as Morgana ever had been, Tilly spat out, “Don’t lie to me, _Merlin_. I’ve Seen it. In the crystals.”

Shit. If she were coming into her own as Seer, Merlin wouldn’t be able to keep things under wraps much longer. He didn’t look forward to the inevitable confrontation with Ambrose. 

“Ah, so your powers are growing as expected.” Sitting up a little, Merlin closed the book he’d been reading before she stormed in, and said, “And I’m sure the Druids told you that the crystals can deceive as well as show you the truth. What did you see exactly?”

She must have seen straight through him. “Stop changing the subject.”

Keeping his voice even, he said, “I am not. I am merely trying to find out where you got your information as to my name… other than the door plaque.”

He didn’t say anything else, just sat there, staring up at her, watching carefully to see if she’d stomp out or if she’d be reasonable and think before she acted. It would certainly be better than what Merlin had done at her age. He’d been impulsive and incredibly naive, and in the end, it cost him everything. He wouldn’t wish it on Tilly for all the gold in Albion.

Staring at him, a deep scowl on her face, she said, “I’ve been having visions. Sometimes in the crystals, sometimes at night, sometimes during the day which is really really annoying.” When he started to say something, she cut him off. “And don’t tell me that you don’t have power. You showed it to me before and while the ‘aw, I’m just a poor man with meagre skills’ con works for you most of the time, I’m not having it. I’ve _Seen_ things.”

“Tilly…,” Merlin didn’t really know what to say. He probably should just admit he was ‘the’ Merlin, but he needed to know what she was Seeing. If Ambrose was Arthur, that meant that Albion’s greatest need was almost upon them, and Merlin didn’t have a clue as to what that could be.

“Fine.” Pushing some of the papers on his desk out of her way, she leaned against the old wooden top, folding her arms across her chest. With an annoyed voice, she said, “I saw you throwing Excalibur into the lake. You, so much older in long robes and white hair and lightning bolts—lightning bolts—coming from your hands and killing everyone around you!”

She sounded horrified. But for a university student whose major life change was moving to the big city, seeing people die would have been traumatic. Shuddering, she cleared her throat a moment, then said, “You again, young this time, crying as you pushed a boat out into the lake. You in an Elizabethan outfit laughing with a bearded man, fighting in the trenches in World War I, running away from Cromwell’s people as they waved flaming torches at you. A thousand years of history or more and you, always you.”

Merlin was surprised. Tilly hadn’t mentioned anything of Arthur or Morgana. Not that it wouldn’t happen eventually. Morgana had been a powerful Seer and he expected Tilly to be the same.

“Fine. Yes, I’m Merlin of Arthurian legend.” Merlin shrugged, then murmured, “It’s not that much fun if you must know.”

She perked up at that, as if she’d been expecting more of a fight to get any crumb of information out of him. “Did you sleep inside a tree like the legends or in a crystal cave for all those years? Which is kind of ridiculous if you think about it. Or are you more of a time traveller, using magic to hop from time to time?”

Staring at her, he finally said, “Sometimes I wonder at today’s youth. A time traveller? Really?” When she looked a bit put out, scowling at him for the ridicule, he leaned forward and bowed his head, wiping his hands across his face, trying to keep the grief at bay. “Tilly, if I were, I’d have already gone back and changed so much. Arthur would have lived instead of….” He trailed off, remembering that awful day. She had no idea of the pain of it.

“Then fuck. You’ve lived all those years? How is that possible?” Sounding as if she were really intrigued by it all, she said, “Will I live that long, too?”

He looked up at that. “No, I’ve not met anyone else with magic that lived longer than a hundred years or so. I doubt you will.”

Looking put out—the possibility of living centuries must have sounded like heaven to someone who hadn’t lived it, she finally nodded. “How old are you then?”

Thinking a little bit because sometimes it was hard to remember what day it was, never mind how many years had passed, Merlin finally tallied it all up. “As of today, I’m fifteen hundred, thirty-one years old, and eight months or so. They didn’t keep records like they do now. I was born in September after the harvest but other than that, well, I don’t know.”

There was envy in her eyes but nothing of the misery of it. Merlin snapped, “Look, there’s nothing good about living that long. In between a few quiet springs, I’ve seen more death and destruction that you could possibly imagine. Horror upon horror, despair and desperation. Yes, I am Merlin of King Arthur fame, but I didn’t really have a choice, not back then and not now.”

For a long while, she just sat there watching his face. Some of the misery must have shown there because she changed the subject. “So what you are teaching is a bunch of stories and not the truth?”

What did she know of truth? Oh, how he wanted to be less cynical about it all, but he’d lived too long for that much naiveté.

Letting out a long, drawn-out sigh, finally he said, “I teach the history of histories. If truth be told, Geoffrey of Monmouth was a pompous windbag who loved his books and tending to embellish too much. I swear he must have hit his head as a child because most of the stories about me and Arthur are total rubbish.” He gave her a little unhappy smile, then shrugged. “But if I tried to teach the truth, well, they wouldn’t accept it. it’s just easier this way.”

“Don’t you want people to know the truth?” She still didn’t get it.

At that, anger flooded his chest. Scowling at her, he snapped, “What truth? That King Arthur was a total dollophead at times? That I lied to him so often, manipulated him into doing things I thought was destiny and was just me being an idiot, that it ended up with everything going to hell? That he died because I was too much of a coward to tell him exactly who and what I was? For fuck’s sake, he’d have killed me if he knew.”

There were so many emotions crossing her face, astonishment, horror, confusion, the beginnings of grief that hopefully she was beginning to get just how awful living that long could be.

Finally, she said, “Dollophead?”

At that, Merlin laughed. Of all the things she would focus on, that was the last thing he expected.

“Technical term…. Okay, I made it up.” She gave a little chuckle at that, then sobered when Merlin said, “Arthur was everything to me, more than magic, more than my life. He still is.”

At that, she looked away, off into the distance of books and a little sliver of light coming through the small window. But the more she sat there, thinking, the more her face was twisting into fury.

“So you are just fucking my brother for fun?” The glare she sent him would destroy lesser men. “Good God, Merlin, are you that much of an arsehole?”

Merlin let out another sigh, closing his eyes a moment, gathering himself to confront his feelings for Ambrose. She had to understand, at least he hoped she would.

“I tried to explain things to him, but he’s really stubborn.” Merlin stared up at her, willing her to see what was going on. “I’d never hurt him on purpose, but he’s just won’t accept that it’s temporary.”

When she protested, he said, soft and decided and full of pain, “Tilly, I’m over a thousand years old. To me, _everything_ is temporary. Everyone dies. Everyone leaves me, no matter how much I want them to stay. Ambrose thinks he’ll live forever, but I know better, and I think under everything, he knows it, too.”

The anger drained out of her face, replaced by a recognition of grief and the pain of a life too long lived. In a small voice, she said, “I… can I give you a hug?”

When Merlin nodded, she gave him a quick hug, patting him on his back as she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

As she let go and stepped back, Merlin said, “So Tilly, I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to Ambrose. He’s already on edge because I defended magic a couple of times, and I do really like him quite a bit.”

“He needs to know at some point. Before he gets in too deep. I don’t want him hurt.” Tilly really was a good sister and a good person.

“I’ll tell him when I see him next, okay?” When she nodded, Merlin said, “I just… I’d hate to lose him. He’s become very important to me. But you are right. He needs to know… just be prepared. He probably won’t take it well.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t have a sword in his hand.” Tilly said, “I’ll talk to him, too. I think between us, he’ll come around.”

“I hope so.” Merlin knew better, though. It wouldn’t be the same. Ambrose might never forgive him for keeping secrets. Arthur hated it, too, and Merlin was only forgiven at the end of things when it was far too late.

Nodding, Tilly shovelled the books on the spare chair over onto Merlin’s desk, then sat down. “Now that I know, I would love to hear about Arthur and Guinevere and all the Knights and you, too. The real story, not Geoffrey’s fanfiction.”

It would be nice to not have to lie for once. Merlin settled into his chair and said, “Well, it’s a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury. In the beginning, the arsehole, Prince Arthur, the prattliest prat I’d ever met was….”


	9. Chapter 9

Merlin kept putting off telling Ambrose about who Merlin really was. He knew that Ambrose wouldn’t take it well and it just about killed him to think that Ambrose might cut him out of his life. When it came down to it, Merlin had fallen for him, and fallen hard, loving him as much as he’d loved Arthur so long ago. And the ache of potentially losing him just made Merlin afraid all over again.

Ambrose must have realised something was up because he was rougher than usual, sliding his cock into Merlin’s eager arse and pumping away before Merlin was quite ready. But Merlin loved the ache, loved the violence of it. In a way, he deserved the burn deep inside.

Biting down on Merlin’s neck, Ambrose reached over and cupped Merlin’s cock, then to his bollocks and further down, pressing at just the right spot to keep Merlin from coming. Merlin groaned a little. The feel of Ambrose’s cock hitting that secret spot inside Merlin, the slick sweat of Ambrose hot against Merlin’s back, his hand mastering Merlin’s prick, was driving Merlin crazy with lust.

Merlin could barely breath, too, Ambrose heavy on him, pressing him down. His vision was blackening, the feeling of impending climax, then pleasure denied again as Ambrose manhandled him, squeezing and pressing and thrusting in as if Ambrose wanted to bury himself in Merlin and never come out again.

Merlin felt owned in a way he had not felt in centuries. And he revelled in it all.

With an abruptness Merlin had not expected, Ambrose pulled out, then shoved Merlin over, he thrust in again, harder this time. Ambrose’s hand was busy, too, clenched around Merlin’s prick, squeezing, his thumb busy with the cockhead, smearing the pleasure there. He must have felt Merlin ready, full and leaking and as hard as he’d ever been, and pressed down again, denying him.

It was all too much. The heat, the brilliance of pleasure building up and up, Merlin groaned, babbling about wanting to come, but Ambrose just laughed, then thrust his tongue into Merlin’s mouth as his cock hit that secret nub inside Merlin over and over again.

It was overwhelming. Merlin couldn’t breathe, Ambrose was everywhere, and as Merlin arched up, begging for release, Ambrose’s hand gave a final squeeze as he thrust in, and then let Merlin soar into bliss. 

It was ecstasy, the white of it spreading everywhere, firing across Merlin’s skin like lightning. It seemed an eternity, so much pleasure inside and out that Merlin thought he might die of it.

Above him, Ambrose’s face was twisted in pleasure’s thrall, his cock still imbedded deep in Merlin. He cried out Merlin’s name and in there somewhere, Merlin thought he heard ‘love you’. But Merlin was too full of pleasure and pain to think about it.

When they finally came down from it, Merlin tried to catch his breath. He ached inside, Ambrose’s cock softening in him but still there. Merlin’s mouth, too, as he swiped his tongue across his lips, was throbbing. Somewhere in the midst of passion, Ambrose had bitten him, and it was as if he’d wanted to mark Merlin for his own. Merlin was sure that if he looked in the mirror, his skin would be littered with love bites, and the thought made him groan a little.

Owned, indeed.

Ambrose finally slid out. Giving Merlin a gentle kiss, his tongue soothing the bite mark there as if in apology, he whispered, “You drive me crazy, Merlin. I hope you don’t mind that I….”

“I wanted it rough. Don’t ever think that I wouldn’t want you in every way possible.” He smiled up at Ambrose and gave him a kiss back. “You make me crazy, too. But in a good way.”

With that, Ambrose hummed, then handed over tissues to wipe them both down. A little of the lube and come from Ambrose leaked out of Merlin, but Merlin didn’t care—they had got tested and were clean so they’d been unencumbered with condoms ever since, and Merlin loved how a part of Ambrose was still inside him.

Almost as if he could read Merlin’s thoughts, Ambrose grinned. “Are you up for another round later? I’ve a lecture, but I can come back later tonight, and we could have another go.” Ambrose nuzzled into Merlin’s neck, whispering, “I was reading about sexual practices among the Romans and I thought we could give a few of them a try.”

“I’ve read those, too.” Merlin snickered. “You know you are going to kill me. I can’t keep up.”

Ambrose’s hand began to wander again, skimming Merlin’s skin, pressing against some of the bruises, scraping his fingernail against the scar on Merlin’s chest then across his overly sensitive nipple. As his fingers played there, Ambrose said, “You’ve been keeping up just fine, _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin caught his hand, then brought it up to his mouth and kissed Ambrose’s palm. “You know I’ve loved our time together. I cherish every moment and I thought that… maybe we could….”

He had never told Arthur that he loved him, and he regretted it ever since. But still, something held Merlin back. Maybe it was all the secrets between them, maybe it was that Merlin’s heart would shatter into dust if Ambrose didn’t feel the same. Whatever it was, the moment passed.

Shaking his head, Merlin said, “Don’t mind me.” Getting up, he began to put on his clothes. He probably should have showered but he liked the ache in his arse, the fact that lube and come was still staining his skin, that Ambrose’s sweat lingered on him. “You better shower before you go. You smell of debauchery.”

“So do you,” Ambrose said, sniffing at the air. “You could shower with me.”

“We’d run out of water and you’d never make your lecture,” Merlin snickered. “I’ll be here when you get back, okay?”

“Fine, my ruttish rump-fed wanton.” Laughing, Ambrose got up, gathering his clothes and starting for the shower.

“Shakespeare was the wanton, not me, dollop-head.” Merlin rolled his eyes. “I’ll have you know I was practically a monk until you came along.”

Ambrose waved his hand, as if he were brushing off something ridiculous. “Whatever you say, Merlin.”

* * *

The shower had just started up when Merlin heard a pounding at the door.

Rushing out, stumbling over the sprawled pile of books that must have toppled over when Merlin climaxed this last time—his magic was growing wilder the longer he was with Ambrose, Merlin could hear Tilly’s voice. “Open up, you wanker.”

Shit. He hadn’t told Ambrose yet. He knew he would never be ready. For the wild second, he thought about ignoring her anger and pretend that he wasn’t home, but then she yelled through the door, “I know you’re in there. Don’t even try it.”

With a sigh, glancing back at the bathroom and the sound of water running, he let Tilly in.

Or rather she shoved him back, slamming the door against the wall, then kicking it shut. “You fucking liar.”

She was furious. Her green eyes were flashing gold at times, her hands curled into fists mere inches from his face.

Trying to calm her down, Merlin stepped back, stumbling over books. “Tilly? What?”

“Why can’t you just tell the truth? You twist everything. You hide everything. You couldn’t bother to mention that I’m Morgana?” Her face was twisted in rage as she shouted, “For fuck’s sake, you poisoned me.”

Freezing a moment, then remembering that terrible time, Merlin snarled back, “Because everyone in Camelot was going to die if I didn’t. You think I wanted to kill you?” Shaking his head because both women, Tilly and Morgana, seemed to be there, glaring at him. “I mean her.”

He needed to calm her down. At least she wasn’t angry about him not telling Ambrose the truth. But still, he needed to explain and hope she would understand.

“Look, Tilly, Morgana was a damaged woman who was betrayed by an idiot who should have trusted her and not a dragon that lied every time he breathed. I think you’ve been given a second chance to do good in the world instead of ill. And I’ve been given a second chance to help you instead of destroying your life. Don’t make me go through that again.” Merlin’s voice broke then, grief and regret clogging his throat.

Tilly wasn’t having any of it. “And how are you helping me if you keep lying about it? You should have told me ages ago. You fucking liar.”

Merlin had had enough. She had no clue what he had gone through. Even when he told her about Camelot, he softened it, to make it as non-violent as he could, not wanting to traumatise her. Apparently, the wrong thing to do. If she wanted truth, then so be it.

Putting his hand up between them, with hints of fury lingering there, Merlin said, flat and final, “Tilly, stop. You think that lying is so bad? You have no idea of what things I’ve gone through. Those stories I told you about Arthur and Camelot? I was terrified every single fucking day there. They burned people alive for magic and every second I thought they’d come for me.”

She seemed to be taken aback at that. Merlin had to wonder just what she had seen in the crystals. He remembered how much they confused as well as revealed. It was why he rarely used them. They only brought him grief.

He ploughed on. “Have you ever heard a person scream when they begin to burn? Watched hair turning into a torch, listened to the pop of skin exploding? The odour of burnt meat permeating everything? They would use dry wood so that the smoke didn’t stun them, that they’d be awake as they burned alive. Begging for mercy until the flames reached them and then screaming, gods above, the sound of it. So don’t tell me that lying is bad.”

Standing there, looking like she was going to vomit and trying not to, finally she seemed to collect herself enough to say, “But we aren’t in Camelot anymore. You should have told me. I had to find out in the crystals. Do you have any idea how traumatising that was? I watched her…, me…, her die. I watched her hurt people. She was insane by the end. You should have told me.”

“Tilly, yes, I should have, but I learned at a very young age to keep myself hidden. I grew up in violence and being afraid every damn day. Do you think several lifetimes are enough to overcome that?” Merlin stared down at her, pressing the point. “Do you?”

Shaking her head, Tilly said, more calmly but still with a hint of fury as if she wasn’t ready to let it go just yet, “You have to stop lying, Merlin, at least to me and certainly to Ambrose or you’ll drive him away for good.”

At least, now they were on firmer ground. Merlin said, “I am going to tell him. I just….”

From behind him, Ambrose said, “Tell me what?”

Shit. Merlin started to panic. He had to wonder how much Ambrose had heard. It was certainly not how he wanted Ambrose to find out. Turning around, seeing that Ambrose was dressed at least, his wet hair dark, Merlin said, “Ambrose, I….”

Tilly pushed past Merlin. Standing in front of Ambrose, hands on hips, Tilly said, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but Merlin is Merlin Emrys, _the_ Merlin of legend. Arthurian legend Merlin.”

Ambrose must have seen that Tilly was still angry. Her face was red, her eyes narrowed. But he stood his ground, glancing at Merlin before shaking his head in disbelief. “Don’t be ridiculous. That would make him what, a thousand years old? I know you think he’s too old for me, but seriously, Tilly, what are you prattling on about?”

This was not good. Merlin could see both of them getting ready for a fight that only siblings could understand, one of long-held grievances and fragility.

Merlin tried to get between them. “Tilly, I will tell him. Let me….”

But Tilly twisted around, glaring at Merlin, her voice scathing. “Yeah, you’ve done a great job so far.” When Ambrose just stood there, looking at them both as if they’d lost their minds and he would have to find ways to soothe ruffled feathers, Tilly said, “Look, Ambrose, I know you don’t believe in magic….” When Ambrose jerked back at that, shaking his head, his body turning rigid with denial, Tilly just scowled at him. “No, listen. It’s real.” He started to sneer about it, but Tilly wasn’t having any of it. Thrusting out one hand, she said, “ _Forbærnen_.”

In her hand, a small flame danced, growing larger as she stared at it. Finally, she clenched her fist and the fire disappeared.

Ambrose looked furious. Towering over her, he grabbed her hand, turning it over, looking for something. When he didn’t find it, he said, flat and cold, “How did you do that? Some magic shop shit? Flash paper or something?” He shoved her hand away. “It’s not funny.”

“Look, Ambrose, it’s as real as I am. I am a witch. I have magic. I can predict the future. I can see the past.” She was standing there, looking every inch a warrior, looking very much as Morgana had in the early days when she defied Uther at every turn. Not backing down an inch.

When Ambrose must have seen how serious Tilly was about magic, he softened. Slumping a little, his face saddened as if remembering something, he finally said, “Tilly, we talked about this. If you think this is real, we can get you help. I’m sure Mum and Dad will be glad to have you home and we can….”

She glared at him. Cutting him off, she snapped, “Shut up and listen. The sword I found in the lake is Excalibur, King Arthur’s sword, your sword. I’ve been setting fires with my mind since I was six and I’ve been hiding it because well, the parents weren’t too happy about it.” Ambrose was growing more and more agitated, looking at her and Merlin with a flushed face and stubbornness in his scowl. “I’ve been having visions about me and Merlin and you.” She lifted her head, immovable, indomitable, looking so much like Morgana in that instant that it took Merlin’s breath away. “I’m Morgana of the legends come back again, and you are Arthur, King of Camelot and Albion. Your dreams are memories of things that actually happened. Merlin knows all about it.”

“Tilly, I….” Ambrose looked sick. Gesturing helplessly toward her, he turned to Merlin and said, “Merlin, tell her that she needs help. She’ll listen to you.”

Merlin wished with all his being that he could make this all go away, that Ambrose would still look at him with trust in his eyes after this was done, but he knew he couldn’t avoid it, not now.

Taking a deep breath, Merlin said, “Ambrose, she’s telling the truth. She has magic… and so do I.”

“No, magic is a myth.” Ambrose backed up, looked at them both as if he were caught in a trap and needed to escape before it was too late.

Lifting his hand, Merlin whispered, “ _Forbærnen, rīderas rīden_.” Above his fingertips, tiny knights rode across the air, their flaming swords drawing lines of brilliance as they swooped and soared, a dragon chasing them. Then as he closed his fist, they flickered out, the dragon bowing his head as he disappeared.

Ambrose was looked between them again, his eyes wild, and he kept shaking his head.

“I am Merlin, of legend. And Tilly is Morgana reborne and you are….” Merlin reached out to Ambrose, but he just backed away.

Snarling, Ambrose said, “No, this is ridiculous.” He looked almost out of control. Glancing at Tilly, he twisted toward Merlin, growling at him, “You’ve been feeding her nonsense. We thought she’d grown out of it, but you… you are making things worse. How could you?”

Ambrose sounded almost hurt.

“It’s not nonsense. It’s true. I didn’t want to lose you, so I hid the truth, but it’s a lot more complicated than that. You deserve the truth. Tilly is….” Merlin reached out for him again, but Ambrose shook him off.

“No, you’ve been playing me. Getting me to fall for you. Letting you do things I’d never let anyone else… and now this? Telling my sister that she’s right when it’s clear she’s off her head. Those Druid nutters and now you?” Merlin had never heard Ambrose so angry. Ambrose glared at them both, then grabbed onto Tilly’s arm, pulling her toward the door. “No, it’s not real and this is some kind of mind-fuckery. Tilly, we’re leaving.”

Tilly yanked her arm out of Ambrose’s grip, glaring daggers at him. Merlin was surprised that things weren’t exploding from the darkening magic gathering around her.

Yelling at Ambrose, her hands waving about in fury, she spat out, “I’m not going anywhere. Just because you are too stubborn to see what is right in front of you doesn’t mean that you control me. You arse.” When Ambrose started to talk back, she cut across him. “Magic is real and I’m Morgana again and you’re the fucking King of Camelot so don’t give me that crap.”

Merlin knew that if they had any chance of changing Ambrose’s mind, they needed to stop screaming at each other. “Tilly, he won’t listen if you keep yelling at him.”

Turning on him, she snarled, “Oh, and you did such a great job of telling him just who and what you are.” She threw up her hands, stalking over to the door and slamming it open. “Fuck it. I’m done with both of you. I’m going to go stay with Brigit.” She stomped down the stairs, the angry sound echoing in the hallway, then the front door to the flats banged shut.

Ambrose started to go after her, but Merlin grabbed onto him, holding him there. “Ambrose, let her go. When you both calm down, we can talk about this like civilised people.”

As Ambrose stared into Merlin’s hand, then looked up, his eyes full of fury, he said, cold and clear, “You can fuck off, you arse. You encouraged her. You let her think that magic is real and she’s some kind of Arthurian legend icon. And you. She thinks you’re the actual Merlin? What the fuck is that?”

Merlin didn’t match him anger for anger. Instead, everything seemed to collapse into a kind of misery in his chest. He knew it wouldn’t end well, not after all the yelling and the anger.

Softly, Merlin said, “I _am_ the actual Merlin. I am fifteen hundred years old and you are Arthur of Camelot.”

With that, he dropped his glamour and stood before Ambrose, Merlin looking as young as he had all those centuries ago. He thought maybe seeing Merlin as he truly was would persuade Ambrose as the fire images had not.

For a moment, Ambrose stared at him, looking gobsmacked, then his face twisted into fury. “What the fuck? What kind of shit are you pulling? This… this is ridiculous. You need help as much as she does.” With that, he grabbed his laptop and his jumper, shoving his feet into his shoes and his phone into his pocket. “Fuck, what was I thinking?”

Merlin could see that he was leaving and taking everything with him. He was leaving and not coming back. Merlin wanted to cry.

Standing there, miserable, desperate to repair it somehow, he said, “Ambrose, please. I can explain.”

“I don’t want to hear any more.” He twisted past Merlin, avoiding any contact, then turned as he stood at the door. Flat, cold, decided, done, Ambrose said, “I’ll try and scrub this whatever this was out of my head, but I don’t want to see you again. Don’t text me, don’t call, don’t come near me or I swear I’ll do something you will regret, _Professor_.”

And then Merlin was alone.


	10. Chapter 10

Merlin hadn’t expected Tilly to come back. After all, he’d let her down in so many ways. Himself, too, honed from centuries of hiding and lies.

Claiming to be ill, he had not given lectures in several days, instead wallowing in misery and unable to think, never mind teach. He ate rarely, didn’t shower at all. It didn’t matter anyway. Who would care if he ceased to be? Without Arthur, without Ambrose, there really was nothing left for him. 

But Tilly banged on his door and when he opened it finally, she took one look at him and said, “You stink. Go get cleaned up. We need to talk, and I refuse to put myself through having to deal with this.” She waved her hands up and down at him, scowling all the while.

Merlin just stood there. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

“My brother is being a fucking berk about it.” She pushed her way past him, then grabbed him and started shoving him toward the bath. In the back of his mind, he could almost find it funny. She was shorter than him and oh so young, but she wasn’t standing for shit, apparently. “He told my parents that I’ve lost my fucking mind and they are insisting that I come home. And you are coming with me. As backup.”

“But he’s not going to listen to me. He made that very clear,” Merlin said as he was trundled down the hallway.

“So what? So he’s blind to magic. Did you really expect anything different?” Tilly glared at him as if he were being an idiot. “And by the way, I’m still furious with you, but Brigit and the others reminded me that you are fucking Emrys and have more magic in your left toe than I will ever have so you are coming with me for proof.”

“Left toe? Really?” Merlin said. That sounded a bit odd.

“No, they used a different part of your anatomy, but I’m not even going there because eww.” She gave him a final shove as he stumbled into the bathroom. “Clean up. I don’t suppose you have a wand or magical staff to bring with you, do you? Something to impress my parents?”

“I’m not Harry Potter.” Merlin rolled his eyes.

She just glared at him, then sniffed. “No, he is more intelligent than you.”

Considering Harry was a fictional character and Merlin was very real, he got his back up a bit. “Hey, I’ll have you know that….”

Tilly pointed to the bath. “Too much talking. Not enough getting ready. Come on, Merlin, I’ve classes day after tomorrow and you’ve been hiding for too fucking long.”

For a moment, Merlin wanted to admit that Tilly was right, that he’d been hiding—again and that it wasn’t good for any of them. Sighing, he said, “Tilly, it doesn’t matter. Ambrose told me to stay away from him. He hates me.” Even to Merlin’s ears, it sounded whiny, as if he were still some love-struck teenager and not a centuries-old magical icon.

“Since when you do ever listen to Ambrose? Or Arthur? Or me?” Tilly said, her voice tart, sounding very much like she was at the end of her rope, “Look, Merlin, Ambrose needs to accept his destiny. I did. So get on with it. I’ve not got all day.”

Merlin got.

* * *

The drive to Wales was mostly silent. Tilly’s foot kept jiggling and Merlin was really on edge. He was driving too fast, too, weaving around the traffic, taking out his frustration on everything, just wanting it to be over, one way or another, but Tilly didn’t object so he just kept going.

Finally, he said, “My experience with the crystals has been problematic. Mostly confusing and I ended up doing exactly what they showed no matter how much I tried to change things, but I just made everything so much worse after.” He hesitated, glancing a moment at Tilly who was frowning at him. “On the day Arthur died, the bloody dragon told me Arthur would return when Albion’s need was greatest. Considering the shit we’ve had to face over the centuries, I shudder to think what that could be.”

Tilly nodded, then looked away. “Everyone says you are the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth. The Druids practically worship you—which freaks me out. How can they when you are so… mistaken about everything?”

A question he asked himself every single damn day.

Not a little sour about it, Merlin said, “I’m not some all-seeing god, Tilly. I make mistakes all the time. Sometimes I even learn from them.” Gripping the steering wheel, he shifted a little, glancing over to her. “But Arthur threw a spanner in the works and my focus… well, I loved him more than I should and that coloured everything.”

Sometimes he wondered just what would have happened if he’d listened to his head instead of his heart all those years ago. But it was useless to speculate. He had fallen in love and his choices, wrong as they had been, were his. He learned long ago to accept them.

Merlin shrugged. “Makes me human, I guess.”

Tilly wasn’t having any of it. “Makes you useless. What good is all that experience if you can’t help us?” Her voice rose, sounding strident and exasperated. “The plonkers in the Druid community might go on and on about all your powers, but if you only use them to make _your_ life better and leave the rest of us out in the cold, then I don’t know what to say. Suck it up and do what you need to?”

Thoroughly frustrated with the whole thing, Merlin snapped back, “The trouble is that I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to do. I’ve been waiting forever, and I’ve had exactly zero direction. Wait for Arthur to return? Great and then what? Help him in Albion’s greatest need. Wonderful. And what the fuck is that? Do you know because I sure as hell don’t?”

Tilly made a little noise, and Merlin realised that he’d been speeding so far over the limit that he was surprised Tilly hadn’t said something sooner. As he let up on the gas pedal, slowing down so that everything outside didn’t seem a blur, she said, “Maybe, the crystals will tell us when we need to know. You said that no matter what you did, what you saw in the crystals didn’t change. So just accept what you see and deal with it.”

“That’s absolute bollocks. Why bother then?” Merlin snapped.

“It is a bit fucked up.” Tilly sighed, grimacing a little and shrugging. “I kinda hate it, too. I’m more of a doer than someone who just waits for events to roll over everything.”

Merlin had to ask. “Have you Seen anything?” Even if he couldn’t do anything, he wanted to know just how badly everything might go.

“Not specifically. But I think you need to get Ambrose onboard. If he is Arthur reborn, then we’re going to need him to not be fighting us every step of the way.” She hesitated, biting at her lip, before she finally said, “I did see Ambrose with the sword in his hand and he was pointing it at you, if that’s any help.”

That didn’t sound good. But she might not know just how deadly the sword could be so Merlin explained, “Well, since Excalibur was forged in a dragon’s breath, it can destroy anything, living or dead. I’m going to stay out of his way. It can kill magical beings, too, and that means me and you.”

“He’s not going to kill us. Don’t be ridiculous.” Tilly rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head as if he had gone bonkers.

As he glanced at her, frowning a little, they crossed the Severn Bridge into Wales. It wasn’t going to be long before they’d reach the Wilson’s farm. His anxiety ratcheted up a notch. 

“Did you See it?”

She must have thought him daft. Sarcastic and pointed, she grumbled, “No, but really, you think Ambrose would want either of us dead?”

“No.” At least, Merlin hoped he didn’t. “So what will you tell your parents?”

Giving a little huff of laughter, biting at her lip again, then turning away, looking out the window, she said, “I’m not going to tell them anything. I’m going to show them, and you are, too.”

“Tilly….” She couldn’t be serious. After all, he was there to help persuade them of the rightness of it, but he thought maybe Tilly should lead in this since it was her family after all.

She just glared at him. “If you ever want to see Ambrose again, knowing my dad, you’ll have to show them what you’re made of, not just spout off some _nonsense_ —their words, not mine, about magic, but show them. Make them believe it or else we’re both fucked.”

It made sense. Not that Merlin was happy about it, though. Wanting to keep a low profile was ingrained in him after centuries of chaos and danger, it was highly likely that Ambrose had already poisoned their minds about him. He’d have to do something to make them see the truth.

“And Ambrose?” He’d already tried with Ambrose to disastrous effects. Merlin wasn’t sure anything would change his mind. But he had to try.

Tilly gave a sharp bark of laughter, not amused but pessimistic. “Stubbornest of the lot. At least Kay will be nice about it. You may need to bring out something pretty spectacular or else Ambrose will just dig in his heels.” She looked at him, her frown challenging. “You got something in mind?”

Merlin shook his head. “I’m open to suggestions. Usually, I just wing it.” He thought it over, then said, “Stopping time? Lightning strikes, cyclones, turning sheep pink?” He wasn’t serious about the last one, though.

Tilly snickered. She must have thought it a great idea. “Can you do one in polka-dots?”

“That might be a bridge too far. But sure, I can try.” He’d always done things for serious reasons, even when showing off with butterflies or strawberries. It might be a good idea to really let go for once. He didn’t think it would hurt. After all, Ambrose had already cut him off. What was the worst that could happen?

“I can’t wait to see Ambrose’s face. He’ll be shitting a brick.”

He might indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you know. I know this chapter is short but the next one just got too long so I figured I'd post this for now.


	11. Chapter 11

Gwen and Tom were not happy to see Merlin. In fact, the whole family was waiting for them outside the front door when Merlin drove up. Kay was bigger than Merlin remembered but he looked more speculative than out for blood. Gwen was wringing her hands and Tom just glowered at the car. A solid wall of fierce protectiveness.

Ambrose was a thunderstorm of fury standing off a little bit away from the rest. His hands were fisted tight, and he looked as if he were ready to kill Merlin, no matter what Tilly might think. Merlin ached to rush to Ambrose, to beg him to understand, but it would appear that he was immovable, a rock upon which Merlin’s heart could break into a thousand pieces.

As Tilly got out, she muttered, “Once more unto the breach.” She seemed to gird herself, staring at her family as if they were the enemy and she was about to get skewered.

“Hopefully, it won’t come to actual war. Although Ambrose looks like he’s ready for it,” Merlin muttered as he stood beside her.

“What is he doing here?” Tom snapped as he stomped forward, jutting his chin toward Merlin. Gwen, Kay, and Ambrose followed in his wake, and they all crowded around them both. 

Tilly wasn’t having any of it. “Merlin’s….”

Glaring daggers at Merlin, Ambrose cut her off. “Telling lies. That’s what you do best, isn’t it Merlin?”

The sound of Ambrose’s anger cut across Merlin’s chest. It flayed him open, making him breathless. Not knowing how to fight back, he just stood there, mouth open, and gazed at the man he loved. And tried not to howl at the unfairness of it all.

Unlike Merlin, Tilly wasn’t having any trouble arguing with her brother. “He’s my backup. In case, you don’t believe me, you arse.”

Ambrose’s gaze flicked to Tilly a moment, his mouth compressed into fury, then he glared at Merlin, daring him to say something, anything. He moved closer, his fists raising, looking as thunderous as Merlin had ever seen him, but Gwen threw an arm across Ambrose’s chest, and held him back.

Gwen turned to Tilly. “Sweetheart, we love you but this… what Ambrose told us, we’re worried. You must know that it sounds insane.”

Tilly shoved her face forward, ready to do battle, but Kay spoke up. “Mum, maybe we should listen to what Tilly has to say. They say that….”

“Kay, there are no such thing as witches or magic or anything else even close. Don’t be ridiculous.” Ambrose wasn’t having any of it.

Glaring at Ambrose over Gwen’s head, Kay said, “Look, just because he wasn’t what you thought he was is no reason not to listen. I mean, I agree with you. Magic is a bunch of rubbish, but if she believes it, telling her that it’s nonsense won’t help.”

As Ambrose and Kay scowled at each other, all posturing and anger, Tom shouted, “Twaddle, the whole lot of it.”

Reaching out, jabbing at Merlin’s chest, Tom’s voice was cold and hard. “Utter tripe. You are feeding our girl lies, preying on her young mind. It’s appalling. You should be exposed for the fraud you are.”

Merlin took a step back, not sure how to deal with it all. It looked like nothing they could say would make any difference.

But Tilly wasn’t having any of it. Straightening up, lifting her chin, she made herself into an immoveable force of stubbornness. “It’s not rubbish. If you would just listen to me….”

“Has he been feeding you more lies then?” Ambrose took another step toward them both, even as Kay was trying to pull him back. “He talks a great game, but when it comes down to it, there’s nothing there.”

“Merlin knows a great deal more than you do, you plonker,” Tilly snapped.

“Tilly, enough.” Tom turned to her, worry in his eyes. “Go into the house. We’ll deal with Professor Emrys. He won’t be bothering you again.”

Tilly bristled at that. “I certainly will not. And as for Merlin, he’s not _bothering_ me. He’s helping me with my magic,” Tilly said. Glaring at Tom, when Ambrose moved to manhandle her into the house, Tilly shoved back, pushed him away.

When Ambrose reached for Tilly again, Gwen grabbed onto his arm and held on tight. “Tilly, darling, we just want what’s best for you and I think this man isn’t good for you or anyone. From what Ambrose has told us, he’s delusional.”

Throwing up her hands in frustration, Tilly growled, “Argh, he’s not delusional. He’s Merlin, the Merlin of legend, centuries old Merlin.”

Kay gave a little bark of astonished laughter as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Looking Merlin up and down—Merlin hadn’t bothered with his old man glamour this time, Kay snorted. “Right. Tilly, you have to admit that he doesn’t look all that old. Where’s his long white beard and wrinkles? At least last time, he looked older than you. Must be a hell of a youth potion he’s got there. I bet he could make a fortune with it, being magic and all.”

“It’s utter nonsense.” Ambrose jerked his arm out of Gwen’s grasp, then stepped close enough to Merlin to him to feel Ambrose’s heat, hear him breathing, gaze up into blue eyes so beloved that Merlin could drown in them.

It was enough to remind Merlin of happier times, of Ambrose under him begging for release, of Arthur making some kind of snarky insult just before they’d fall into a trap yet again, of shared dangers and shared pleasures. He swayed a little at that. Arthur had been his lodestone, and he could not more resist him than the sea could ignore the shore. They were one coin, now and always. Even if he hated Merlin.

Lost for a moment, Merlin blinked back his memories to hear Ambrose tell his father, “… Emrys enjoys suckering people into trusting him and then twisting the knife.”

Reaching out to touch Ambrose, Merlin said, “I wasn’t lying about how I feel. You are very import….”

But Ambrose batted his hand away and stumbled backwards a couple of steps, never taking his eyes off Merlin. “Shut up. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

“Ambrose, I meant every word,” Merlin whispered, letting his hand fall back to his side.

“Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you,” Ambrose hissed.

Gwen made a little sound of protest, but Tom was more pointed. “Ambrose, enough.”

Then giving Ambrose a daggered glare, obviously expecting him to back off, Tom turned back to Merlin. “You are not welcome here. I would thank you for returning Tilly to us, but it is clear that you are a fraud and a shyster, preying on our daughter. If you think I’ll let you hurt me or mine, you have another thing coming. Leave. Now.”

Merlin looked over at Tilly who was growing more and more upset. Her eyes were flashing gold at times and her hands lifting at the beginning of spells. Shaking his head at her, Merlin nodded to Tom and Gwen, “Please. If you prevent Tilly from reaching her potential, there are going to be serious consequences for all of us.”

Waving at Merlin, pointing an accusation at him, Ambrose snarled, “See. Threats, wrapped up in concern. He’s dangerous. Can’t you see that?”

Gwen spoke up, “Ambrose, please don’t make things any worse.” Her face softening, full of worry, Gwen put her hand over her heart, and nodded toward the house. “Tilly, we should talk about what you want. Come inside and we’ll listen, I promise.”

Tilly just shook her head, stepping back. “Merlin isn’t leaving, not until you accept that I’m a witch. I’m a pretty good one, too, and my magic grows every day.” She lifted her chin, growing straight and tall and proud, daring them to contradict her. “One day, I’ll be High Priestess of the entire magical community in Albion.”

Ambrose threw up his hands, getting louder and louder as he strode forward. “I’ve had enough of this shit. Tilly, get in the house. I’ll deal with this fool.”

Sensing the currents, Merlin could feel the magic gathering. Tilly was increasingly out of control, her eyes flashing gold and there was static in the air, a heaviness that did not bode well.

Yelling at Ambrose, Tilly spat out, “You are not my keeper, you arse. I’d hoped that you would all be reasonable, but I can see I was wrong.”

There was too much anger there. In Ambrose’s voice, in Tom’s glare, in Gwen’s worried eyes, in Tilly’s shaking hands. If it were just Merlin, he would have already retreated and licked his wounds in his lonely room, mourning. But Tilly needed to be understood, she needed her family to back her up when the wider world would try and force her back into a hole of hiding and despair. She needed them to see her in all her potential before it was too late.

Turning to Tilly, hoping to calm the situation down, Merlin said, his voice even, “Tilly, I doubt they will believe anything without proof.”

“Bloody right,” Tom snarled. “Go on then. Show us some of this magic of yours.” The others nodded, all except Ambrose who was shaking his head as if horrified at the thought.

Merlin gave a little nod, gesturing for them to move back. Tilly must have realised what he was about to do because she hurried over to him. The rest of them just stared at Merlin as if they thought he’d gone mad. But they would find out soon enough just what power was.

“ _Wāw byre_.”

Merlin began to chant, raising his one hand, gathering dust and air and twisting it faster and faster in front of him. Moving in a circle, the wind intensified, catching leaves and hay and some of the garden waste and pushing it skyward. The sounds grew, too, howling as the cyclone darkened with debris, and the sheep in the distance bleating in fear. More and more dirt swirled up, making it hard to see.

Above the roar of it all, Merlin could hear Tom yelling about what was going on, Kay sounding worried. Gwen was shouting for everyone to get inside, pushing Ambrose toward the house. But Ambrose dug in his heels, snapping about how Merlin was putting on a show and that it wasn’t real. 

Merlin let it go on a moment or two, enough for them to see that it was genuine and not something they had dreamed up. Finally, he closed his fist and the wind died.

In the next instant, things were falling from the sky, branches and leaves and clumps of earth, hitting the ground with a series of thunks. Merlin made sure that they landed far enough away that no one would get hurt, not even the sheep.

All of them were staring at Merlin, even Tilly. When she raised her eyebrows, looking at him as if he’d forgotten to tell her just what he’d been about to do, Merlin shrugged. “What? You knew I had power. I just don’t use it often. There are always consequences. As you know, Tilly.”

Still, Tom was shouting about impossibilities, Ambrose was glaring at him, Gwen asking if everyone was okay.

Kay, on the other hand, looked impressed. “That was great. How the fuck did you do that?”

“I can control the weather if necessary, stop time if I need to.” Merlin was surprised that Kay wasn’t freaking out like the rest of them, but the younger man just nodded.

Kay opened his mouth, likely to ask more about it, but Ambrose cut across him. “We’ve had gusts of wind before. It’s natural, not magic.”

“Ambrose, I told you. I’m Merlin and you are….” Merlin tried to reach out to him, but Ambrose shoved him away.

“No, I’m not King Arthur. No matter what you say, I’m not.” Ambrose shouted, his hands grabbing at his waist as if reaching for a sword. When he didn’t find anything there, he looked wilder and more out of control that Merlin had ever seen Ambrose. “I can’t….”

Glancing in Merlin’s direction, then turning to Ambrose, Gwen pulled him aside and murmured, “Ambrose, we talked about this. They are just dreams, sweetheart, nothing more.”

Closing his eyes a moment, breathing in and out, finally Ambrose nodded and gave his mum a little smile. 

But as Gwen turned toward Merlin and Tilly, she was not quiet but forceful and decided. “Ambrose is right. It’s not common but we’ve had small dust devils before. Your hand waving is a bit of a show, but it’s coincidence or maybe you checked the weather forecast before you came. Anyone could…”

Tilly let out a sharp growl. “Mum, you can’t be serious.”

When Gwen narrowed her eyes, looking as if she were about to give Tilly the lecture of her life, Tilly said, “Fuck it. Believe this, then.”

Turning toward the barn, she thrust out her hand, palm up. “ _Forbærn_.”

As the fire gathered in her hand, she blew on it, and it gathered strength, becoming a blowtorch of power and light and heat. The flames grew hotter, and a nearby hay bale caught fire, glowing green and red and a sickly kind of yellow.

Behind them, Tom was shouting about the water hose and that there were sheep still inside the barn and Kay was rushing over to turn on the water spigot.

But Ambrose did none of those things. Instead, as he glared at Merlin, he yelled, “Stop it, Tilly. Stop.”

Her hand fisted now, her eyes still glowing gold, looking wild and frightened, as if she had lost control and didn’t know what to do, Tilly turned to Merlin and whispered, “Help me.”

It wasn’t unexpected. Magic needed control and purpose. Anger just fuelled the chaos that wild magic could bring. And she was still very much a student.

Merlin nodded, covering her hand with his own and pushing it down to her side before letting go. Then turning, both hands gathering moisture from the air, the potential of rain and storms, into a large sphere of water, he shouted, “ _Forþbringe þóðer wætre.”_

It was rather spectacular. The water soared overhead, still keeping its shape as it flew across the yard and into the heart of the fire. With that, there was a roar of steam and billowing clouds of heat and damp. When it all cleared, wet hay lay scattered around the scorched earth, and the barn had burn marks stark against the stone and wood.

For a moment, no one said anything. Kay’s mouth was open in astonishment, Tom looked like a thundercloud, Gwen biting her lip in worry, and Ambrose just stood there, staring at Merlin.

Then Tom shouted at Tilly. “What the bloody hell was that? We could have lost the barn and our flock… what were you thinking?” 

“You wanted proof. Did you think I was just going to roll over and be a good little girl and ignore what I am? I’m a witch, Dad. Accept it.” She stamped her foot for good measure, but Merlin could see that she was as upset as Tom about what had happened.

“And does being a witch mean you have to ruin everything? Look at what you did, Tilly. How long before you burn everything down?” Tom wasn’t having any of it.

Tilly looked at first ashamed, then she clenched her jaw and glared at Tom. “Dad, I didn’t ruin anything, If you had just listened.…”

Turning to Tom, Merlin said, “Mr Wilson, Tilly has much to learn. I and her teachers in magic will continue to help her hone her skills. But she has gifts that cannot be ignored.” Merlin put his hand on Tilly’s shoulder a moment, squeezing to let her know he was still backup if she wanted, then let go.

Tom shook his head. “From what I can see, all magic can do is destroy. Wind and fire, it’s a time bomb waiting to explode.”

“It can be beautiful, too,” Merlin said, then he went down on one knee, reaching out to the ground. “ _Blōwe, blōstmas ond milscapuldore._ ”

Letting his magic free, pulling power from the earth and pushing it out again, he could feel the soil responding, the plants eager to bloom. A line of flowers shot up from where he knelt, summer flowers in the midst of spring, roses and hydrangeas and delphinium, growing up and towards the front garden, and then the apple tree there began to shake, blossoms turning into fruit, fat and juicy and full. 

As Merlin got to his feet, Kay ran over to the tree, plucking one of the apples and biting into it. Wiping his chin of juice, he grinned. “Shit, it’s real. Magic, how… are you really Merlin?”

Ambrose just shook his head, but Kay was eager. “Can you do anything else? This is amazing. Hey, can you cheat at cards or darts? My mates down at the pub are always on about how they are so much better at darts than I am and if you could….”

“Shut up, Kay,” Ambrose snarled. “I’ve got to think.”

Gwen’s voice was sharp. “Kay, we aren’t going to do this now.” Then she put her arm around Tilly and said, “We love you, Tilly, no matter what. If you have magic, then we’ll try and understand.”

Ambrose walked away, sitting down on the garden wall, staring off into the distance, into the green hills above their farm.

The others let him be and Merlin, too. They turned to each other, talking softly, Gwen with her arm around Tilly, Tom nodding to something Tilly said, Kay eating his apple, then reaching for another and offering it to his dad.

Merlin didn’t care what anyone else had to say. He’d done what he needed to in order to show the Wilsons what their daughter could be. He just wanted Ambrose back. Merlin had had enough of waiting. Was it so impossible that Merlin could have some semblance of happiness after all the centuries alone?

Walking over to Ambrose, Merlin sat down next to him, keeping a careful distance, not wanting to crowd him and make him more upset than he already was. “Ambrose, please, you have to accept that there are forces greater than you at work here. Magic can be beautiful. I want you to….”

Ambrose whispered into his hands, “I won’t be Arthur. I can’t be.” Then he looked up, his eyes wet with emotion.

Tilly must have heard Ambrose. Frowning, looking at them both, Tilly said, “Why are you so upset? If you don’t want to see him anymore, fine, don’t. It’s not like you’re going to be sharing a flat.”

Arthur pushed off the wall, glaring at Tilly, his voice growing angrier by the moment. “And do what exactly?” He flung an arm in Merlin’s direction. “He’s been haunting me. Night and day. I’ve been having flashbacks or whatever you’d call it. Things that I never did. Killing people, threatening children, watching people die screaming as they melted in a fire. It’s more than nightmares because it happens all the time. During lectures, watching footie matches, having a pint with my mates. One moment laughing into my drink, next moment the memory of thrusting a sword into someone’s gut. And Merlin there, all the time, shouting at me. Telling me I’ll be a great king.”

Rounding on Merlin, Ambrose shouted, “I don’t want to be a fucking king.” He stepped toward Merlin, his face flushed with anger, looking ready to explode. “What did you do, put some kind of spell on me? Use magic to make my life a fucking nightmare?”

Merlin was horrified. He had no idea. “Arthur, no, I’d never….”

The punch came out of nowhere. Merlin crumbled to the ground, his face blazing with pain. Above him, Ambrose roared, “I am _not_ Arthur.” Standing over him, looking like he’d kill Merlin if he had the chance, a moment later, Ambrose took a deep breath and snarled out, “No, I don’t want to see you anymore. I just want it to stop. Now.”

The others just stood there, staring at Merlin. Then as Ambrose escaped into the house, as Merlin rose up, he said, “I’ll take care of this.” Not waiting for them to answer, he followed Ambrose inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to break this chapter up into two parts as it was really long.


	12. Chapter 12

Ambrose was waiting for him in the back room, surrounded by walls of weapons and collectables. In another lifetime, Merlin might have been worried, but now all he could see was Ambrose standing there, Excalibur in his hand.

Shaking, the sword wavering as Ambrose pointed it at Merlin, Merlin could see past the anger to the exhaustion. Dark circles under Ambrose’s eyes and breathing hard as if he couldn’t catch his breath. Fury and desperation and under it all, love, too. Merlin wanted to wrap him in his arms and kiss away Ambrose’s problems, but instead, he stopped short, out of Excalibur’s reach.

Shoving the sword forward, Ambrose half-shouted, “Take the damn thing and leave us be. This all started with Tilly finding it. I can’t….”

Merlin knew that wasn’t true. Ambrose had told him of dreams he’d had when he was a kid, but it all seemed to be overshadowed by his visions over the past weeks.

Gently, not wanting to spook Ambrose but still slightly worried about a weapon that could kill him, Merlin said, “Put the sword down, then. I can show you more so that you can….”

Shaking his head, rough and decided, Ambrose snapped, “I’ve had enough. Enough talk, enough of your magic, enough of you haunting me every second. Leave now or I’ll make you go.” He shook Excalibur a little to make his point.

Merlin couldn’t stand it. “Arthur….”

It was enough. “Stop calling me that.” Ambrose let out a shout then, tossing the sword in Merlin’s direction. It wasn’t an attack, more like a desperate reaction, Ambrose hovering on the cliff-edge of violence.

Merlin threw up his hands, anyway. Instinct and survival taking over.

The sword never reached Merlin. Instead, Excalibur hung between them, floating untouched, a stark reminder of magic and weapons and desperate times long ago.

Choking, Ambrose stared at it. “I can’t deal with this.” Reaching up, he pulled the sword out of the air, tugging on it until it came free of the magic holding it in place. Then looking around, throwing Excalibur onto the table, Ambrose picked up a heavy axe, and swung it hard across the blade.

It should have shattered Excalibur, should have turned the sword into bits of useless steel. But it had been forged in the dragon’s breath and the axe just bounced off it. Ambrose swung again and still the sword was intact.

A third time and Merlin grabbed Ambrose’s wrist and held him still. “Stop this. It won’t work.”

But there was madness in Ambrose’s eyes, the kind Merlin had seen in Arthur at times, and Merlin was thrown back as Ambrose hit the sword again.

Merlin couldn’t bear it. Grabbing onto the axe, trying to tug it away from Ambrose’s grasp, there was an intensity there, power in Ambrose’s grip and Merlin tugged harder.

Ambrose let go suddenly, and Merlin stumbled away, the edge of the axe cutting into his arm. It hurt like hell and later he knew he’d be in worse pain, but right then he was flying on adrenaline and worry about Ambrose.

As Merlin hurried closer, Ambrose didn’t seem to be aware of Merlin’s injury. Instead, now without a heavy object to shatter the sword, he took up Excalibur, then jammed it into the table’s edge and started to twist the blade, perhaps hoping to shear it off.

Reaching out, covering Ambrose’s hand with his own over Excalibur’s hilt, Merlin sent out a strong pulse of magic, hoping to get through to Ambrose.

But something must have gone wrong or perhaps the magic in the sword just amplified whatever Merlin had done.

Around them, static grew and grew, lighting arcing from the sword into Merlin and Ambrose and out again. There was sound and flashes of light and the feeling of weapons and paintings and anything not bolted down flying across the air and embedding themselves into wood and plaster and stone. A loud explosion and brilliance, blinding and powerful, filling the room. It seemed to go on an eternity.

Finally, when Merlin could see again, he and Ambrose were spawled across each other on the floor, Merlin’s arm pulsing with pain, and Ambrose holding his head.

Around them, there was plaster everywhere and chaos. The room had been almost completely destroyed, but at least they were both still alive. As Merlin scrambled to stand up, Ambrose blinked at him. “Merlin, you idiot. What happened? Is that… why is my sword stuck in the wall?”

Merlin held his breath. It couldn’t be. “Ambrose?”

Scowling, glaring at Merlin as if he had been to the tavern one too many times, Ambrose said, “No… yes… no. Well, that is confusing. Was I hit with a spell? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Shit, he sounded like Arthur.

Staring down at him, Merlin said, “Arthur?”

Groaning as he stood up, Arthur said, exasperation in his voice, “Who else would I be? Although… I’m… Ambrose, too, I think.” He seemed to shrug the confusion off, but then frowned at Merlin, pointing to Merlin’s arm. “You’re bleeding.”

Yes, Merlin felt the trickle of warm blood dripping off his fingertips, the pain of the wound increasing as he thought about it. Grunting a little as he twisted around to look at it, Merlin muttered, “It’s, well you tried to destroy Excalibur and I got in the way?”

Arthur was a dollophead. Tearing a bit of his shirt, he began to wrap Merlin’s arm as he said, “Excalibur?”

“Your sword? The one you pulled out of the stone?” Merlin didn’t have the heart to tell him about antiseptics and clean bandages, so he just let Arthur tie up the makeshift cloth over his wound and smile when he was done.

“You named it? It’s not a puppy, Merlin.” Arthur sounded like he thought Merlin was a bumpkin, too idiotic for words. 

Merlin loved it. The pull and push of their words, the underlying affection, the way Arthur was looking at Merlin as if he couldn’t believe that Merlin would name a sword, it felt like fifteen hundred years was falling away even as they stood among the disordered mess in the room.

Tilly picked her way carefully inside. “Mum and Dad aren’t going to be happy about this.” She looked around at the state of it, the knives in the walls, the bits of plaster littering the floor, and shook her head. “Maybe this will keep them busy for a while and leave me to my magic?”

Grabbing onto his belt as if he expected a sword there, Arthur said, “Merlin, get behind me. It’s Morgana. She….”

Stepping in front of him, then putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder for reassurance, Merlin said, “It’s okay. She’s Tilly, remember?”

As Arthur stared at her, then looked back, frowning, confused at Merlin, Tilly said, “Great. So King Arthur is just as annoying as my brother? I’d hoped for someone with more sense.”

Arthur glared at her. “Hey, I’ve got sense. More than you.”

The rest of them clambered into the room. Tom looked both furious and devastated to see the mess. Gwen kept looking at them both, obviously checking them out to see if they were hurt. When she spied Merlin’s bandage, she hurried over and looking it over, tutted at the dirt and blood.

As Gwen poked at Merlin’s bandage, Tom said, “What happened? Why are all… fucking hell, it will take a month to clean this up. And why is there a sword stuck in my wall? And my axes and my Regency knives and… shit.”

“I’m truly sorry. Things got a bit out of control,” Merlin said, grimacing a little. “I’ll take care of it later, Mr Wilson. Right now, I’m really sorry about the mess. I can fix it once I’ve rested a bit, if that’s okay?” Merlin did feel badly about the room. It was going to be pretty much a gut job.

Tom glared at him, grumbling under his breath. Merlin didn’t blame him at all.

Arthur straightened up, clearing his throat, looking so much like the king Merlin loved for so long that it made his heart hurt. Giving his parents a regal nod, Arthur said, “This is a bit of a confused situation here.” When Gwen frowned at him, Arthur gave a little sigh as if resigned. “Mother, Father… I don’t know how to say this. I am your son. I remember growing up and everything you’ve done for me, loving me, nursing me through illness, cheering me on when I played footie in school, going to my plays and arguing with my teachers. Your understanding when I had my nightmares, your discipline when I did something wrong. Teaching me to be the best person I could be. I love you for it.”

Merlin came over and gave Arthur a nod, letting him know that Merlin had his back no matter what. 

Lifting his head, as if the crown had settled into place, Arthur said, “But… I am also Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, returned to aid Albion in its time of need.”

It didn’t take long. Tom threw his hands up, clearly frustrated. “Great, now both our kids are nutters.”

Kay looked at Arthur a moment, then said, “Since you’re king, does that mean I’m a prince now?”

Gwen looked appalled. “Kay, this is not funny.”

Shrugging, Kay said, “Look, Mum, we’ve seen things that can’t be explained. Maybe Tilly is right. Maybe there is still magic in the world. Maybe Ambrose really is Arthur, somebody we only have legends about. Maybe we should realise that this means that something is coming, something bad and we will need them both and Merlin here to figure out what to do.” He waved his hands around the room. “Can you explain this any way other than some power we’ve not known about before?”

“Good point. You are smarter than you look, Kay,” Arthur said, then grinned when Kay sent him a scathing glare. “I think we need to convene a war council, then. And Merlin, I’m starving. Do you think you could find us all something to eat?”

Voice dripping with sarcasm, Merlin said, “I’m not your servant, you prat. And it’s not my house, either.”

Gwen just stared at them both a moment, as if they’d both lost their minds, then said, “Come into the kitchen and I’ll make tea.”

* * *

As Gwen cleaned up Merlin’s wound using proper bandages and medication, Merlin sent her a grateful smile. “We don’t know what’s coming. None of the magical community has been able to tell us anything, other than Arthur had to rise again and save us all.”

Putting down his teacup, Arthur said, “Great, I’ve a sword. That will solve everything.”

Tilly just rolled her eyes, then gave a long, put-upon sigh. “At least now Merlin and Arthur are together and those of us with magic are starting to gather, too. Maybe it’s not yet time?”

“The crystals haven’t been much help. We’re just flailing in the dark at this point.” Merlin had hoped for more guidance, especially now that Arthur finally remembered everything, but it seemed that things were as muddy as ever.

“Isn’t that how you do your job, flailing?” Arthur said, grinning at Merlin.

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Well, at least I wasn’t lying about doing nothing for fifteen hundred years. I bet the snoring was unbelievable. Maybe that’s why you’re back. The Sidhe couldn’t take any more.”

Tilly slapped the table, the noise sharp. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at her. Glaring at Merlin and Arthur, she said, “Shag later, talk now.”

Kay gave a snort. “So you’ve been shagging an old guy, you trollop?”

Arthur’s smile turned heated. “He’s not that old.”

“Focus, you wankers,” said Tilly.

Feeling a little guilty for getting them off-track, Merlin said, “Until we get more information, or until the Seers will be able to give us any direction, I suggest we continue as we have been. Tilly will grow in power and she has connections now to the magical community, Ambrose was studying to be a lawyer. Did you have ambitions past that?”

Arthur thought about it a moment. “A dream of mine was to be part of the government someday. Maybe run as an MP for our district. You need power to get things done. I thought I’d be able to help all my people, not just the rich or well-connected.”

“Mine was finding you and then helping in any way I could. I’ve power enough but I think we’ll need more than my skills for what is to come,” Merlin said. He looked at Arthur, still a bit gobsmacked about him sitting next to Merlin at a kitchen table. For so long, he thought that it would never happen. “I think we have time to prepare. With Arthur on the political and law end, me and Tilly on the magical side, we should have things covered.”

Gwen looked down at her teacup, staring into its depths for a moment, then seemed to crumble a little. As she gazed at Tilly and Arthur, she said, soft and worried, “And us? We’re just farmers, trying to make a living. And now we have two… what, magicals? I don’t even know what to call you and….” She choked up at that, unable to say anything else.

Tom reached over and put his arm around Gwen, giving her comfort in what must have been a traumatic time for them.

Getting up, coming over and hugging her mum, Tilly said, “Mum, you’re still my mum and I love you, no matter what. As long as you don’t reject who we are, I think Ambrose and I will be fine. Please, Mum, don’t be upset.” She squeezed tighter, giving Gwen’s hair a kiss. “Hey, I’m still Tilly. No matter whether I have magic or not.”

Tom reached out and gathered Tilly into a hug, too, the three of them huddled around each other. “You’ll always be my girl, Tilly, and Ambrose, my son. I’ll always be proud of you, always.”

Kay pouted. He didn’t look that upset, but still he said, in an offended, how-dare-you-ignore-me kind of voice, “Hey, what about me? Don’t I get a hug?”

Tom stood up, lifting his arm. “Come here, you great lummox.” Kay grinned at that and burrowed into the group. It was a bit of a stretch as Kay was larger than the rest of them.

Merlin felt so much an outsider watching the family give each other hugs. It had turned into relief for them, grinning and nudging each other. Even Arthur hopped into it, elbowing Kay out of the way to squeeze his parents a little bit.

Starting to move away, Merlin wanting to let them all have their moment of joy, not wanting to interfere. But Arthur looked up then, moving away from his family and opening his arms. “Merlin, come here.”

It only took fifteen hundred years, but Merlin finally got his hug, a full-bodied one with Arthur pulling him in close. It felt right, it felt good, it felt as if he was finally home. At last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an epilogue. It might be pretty long, too.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's Notes:** modern AU with magic, unbetaed  
>  **Disclaimer:** Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.


End file.
